Journey Through the Dark
by Mercury Gray
Summary: Legolas's sister decides to take matters into her own hands regarding the way the story runs, and takes up her brother's bow for bonds of fellowship. All will be explained in due course. Alternate Universe...Please read and review.
1. Many meetings

The sun was high in the sky, but in the depths of the forest of Mirkwood, the sun had forsaken the ground. Darkness reigned supreme here, remnants of an age and oppressor long removed to darker realms. I drew my cloak tighter around my body, taking heed to stay on the path. Stray not from the path, they had said, or you'll be prey for the Mirkwood spiders. Giant, fell beasts as large as carthorses that would eat an unsuspecting human like myself for dinner. I could just see the stands of mammoth spider webs glistening with dew in the half-light form the ivory path.  
  
Bones littered the forest floor, a gruesome reminder of the danger of straying from a path that disappeared the moment you stepped off it. The trees were so close here, forming a barrier between those wary few who would wander in Mirkwood, and the spiders.  
  
The air here was close, and cold. An eerie wind whistled through the trees, and a few leaves blew across my feet, causing me to start at the sensation. I drew in a breath, calming myself. The air smelled of pine needles, and rain, the ground still damp with the previous night's downpour. I froze at the sound of rustling leaves, and whispered Sindarin. That meant one thing- I had found who I was looking for: The elves of Mirkwood. But it would appear that they had found me.  
  
Several bodies dropped from the trees, lithe and sinewy. Cloaks pulled around their faces, all held bows, nocked at my head. Their leader stepped forward, putting down his bow and opting for his knife, pointing it at my throat.  
  
"What business brings you to Mirkwood, stranger? Why do you trespass upon these lands?" I recognized the voice- my brother's. Why hadn't he recognized me, his playmate for so many years?  
  
" I come from Lórien, and as you would do well to remember, brother, I am a daughter of the king, so sheath your knife." The elf was taken aback. Sheathing the blade, he pulled back his hood. Peering into my face, he stared in astonishment.  
  
"Gabrielin?" He finally asked.  
  
"Legolas." I evenly replied.  
  
" You are home so soon. I had feared you for dead. Father would not tell me where you had gone until I could not follow."  
  
" He wanted me to be made marriageable material. But the Lady gave up after two years. Even she does not have the patience to work with me for that long. But she was a little satisfied with my progress, so bade me go home. Legolas, may we get home soon? The forest is not a place to linger. I have tidings I must share with Father." My older brother had forgotten we were in the middle of Mirkwood, not at the Great Palace. He took my hand, clasping my slender fingers in his larger, calloused ones. The other members of the guard took their leave of Legolas, going back up into the trees from which they kept watch.  
  
My brother guided me down paths I had not seen in what seemed like eternities. I could just see the white towers of the Great Palace as we neared the gates to the city. The elves at the gate bowed respectfully to Legolas and I, the son and daughter of their king. We walked up the hills and through the untainted trees to the palace. Another set of gates opened before us, and we were let in without question.  
  
I clung to my older brother's hand as we entered the throne room. Would my father be the same, stern man I remembered, cold, calculating, commanding? I bowed, and waited.  
  
"Is this my daughter I see before me?" His voice boomed out from the throne at the center of the hall. "Is this Gabrielin? Surely not, for my daughter would have leaves in her hair and clothes coved in mud. No, this is a grand lady, to be dressed in such finery. Rise, so that I may see what my kinswoman has done." I got to my feet, looking into my father's ageless face. His eyes were still that green, the color of a new leaf, and his long hair the color of soft fire. I bowed my head. It pained me to look at him for too long. His eyes were boring into me, just like they always did, ready to fathom any wrongdoing out of my brother and I.  
  
"Cousin Celeborn sends his greetings, as do Galadriel and Haldir." My voice was merely a whisper.  
  
" I have no time for greetings, daughter. When I sent you to Lórien, I sent away a girl elf and they gave me back a woman. It is good to see my daughter attired thus, in gown and mantle, and not your brother's clothes." His voice boomed, and I blushed at the thought. My kinswoman had wrung my old habits out of me, and now they seemed childlike.  
  
" But you are weary. I see it in your eyes, and in your face. I will let you rest, and you and your brother can talk before dinner." I bowed, and let myself out of the great hall, Legolas in close pursuit.  
  
" So, what has my brother been up to?" I asked when he caught up to me. " Patrolling the Outer Rim. Very boring. Though I can't say that much for Girion. He's having the time of his life." I scowled at the sound of my younger brother's name.  
  
"What has he done now?"  
  
"It is not now, but every night, carousing till dawn, and in the day makes shameful advances on our people. His behavior is more like to a man than an elf."  
  
"You do not speak of the lord Estel?" Legolas looked shocked.  
  
" We must remember to call him Aragorn now. He is by rights the Heir to the throne of Gondor, and should be called by his proper name. And I would not presume to speak of the blood of Númenor in such a manner. I meant common men, those not of noble blood. But the lord Aragorn, did you see him?"  
  
"I was in Lórien, not Rivendell. I did see, and spend much time with the Lady Arwen."  
  
"Is she still raven haired and beautiful, sister of mine?" I laughed.  
  
"There is a woman you love more than I, your sister? You swore you'd never marry unless I was already thus attired with the cloth of matrimony." I was playing with him. He laughed. " Yes, and now has a new name, so shines her beauty. Undómiel."  
  
"The Evenstar? It is fitting. And tell me, what have you thought of Haldir's suit?" I had forgotten the march warden of Lórien was seeking to marry me. "I refused to see him."  
  
"Why? Father wishes you to marry. Why not to a man of your choosing, one who would not make you hang up your bow?"  
  
"Father wants grandchildren. Why do you not take a wife?" Legolas thought about this for a moment.  
  
" I have not found the right woman. Besides, many elves here have no use for another son of Thranduil in their beds."  
  
" Why does not Girion take a wife?" I asked exasperatedly, knowing the answer full well.  
  
" He cannot abide a woman for that long. As soon as her belly swells, she has reached her full purpose in Girion's eyes." My brother scowled at the thought.  
  
"Girion thinks himself a stud horse? Let him sleep in the stables with the other stallions, then." My brother laughed.  
  
"But what of a husband for you? Why do you not marry? Any elf in Mirkwood, or Lorien, for that matter, would give up Valinor for you."  
  
"You jest, surely."  
  
"I do not! After our illustrious kinswomen Galadriel, and Arwen, I have heard many say that my sister is the most beautiful creature in Middle Earth."  
  
"You lie! Who says these things?"  
  
" Lôrmir, and Arafaroth." Girion's friends. No small wonder. "I want to be loved, not just be a hunting partner, or bearer of children. I will not give up my freedom until I find a man that is truly worth giving it up for."  
  
"Like the Lord Aragorn?"  
  
"I could no sooner marry him than ask the stars to fall from the sky. He is Lord Elrond's foster son, but he is no Elf. Besides, Galadriel sees greater things for him than the daughter of the king of Mirkwood. And more than that, any fool can see he loves the Lady Arwen, who, as you yourself said, is much more beautiful than me."  
  
" What of his newest conquest? After wresting the Lady from her father, of course."  
  
" He rides to Rohan. To seek service with their king, Thengel. He will come this way in several days. I think 'tis to keep his mind and heart from milady Arwen."  
  
"Elrond forces him to go?"  
  
" No, but Aragorn is a man of honor, and I think he feels he must go." My maidservant entered the room with a sharp knock on the doorframe.  
  
"Milady Gabrielin, 'tis time for the feast. And you are not dressed! Milord Legolas." She bowed as my brother got up, kissed my cheek and left.  
  
" We must get you ready! The word at the kitchens is, milord King expects an important guest." I sighed.  
  
" Not another marriage proposal! I tire of being shown off like a piece of livestock. I have been home nigh on an hour and already I have become property again. Something plain, please. I do not wish to inspire more proposals."  
  
After a fight with my chamber maid over what I would wear, I appeared in the Hall of Feasting just in time for the first course. I had chosen or rather, my maid had, to wear a light, pastel blue dress with a consistency like film. I didn't like it one bit. Sitting down next to my father, he grasped my hand in a fatherly way, as if to reassure me.  
  
" You will steal many hearts tonight, Gabrielin. Only hope that I may chose the right elf to keep yours." I kept my face calm, and unbiased. A lady must always obey her father.  
  
" Who is our guest tonight? I have heard 'twill be someone of importance."  
  
"I won't spoil the surprise, though he is known to you. Attend; there is our lordship now." I watched with growing dread at whom this man might be. But when he approached the head of the hall, I could see clearly whom it was my father had been so keen to see.  
  
Lord Elrond, together with his two sons and foster son, Aragorn, bowed to my father.  
  
"King Thranduil."  
  
" Lord Elrond. Mae govannon, kinsmen."  
  
"Elen síla lúmenn' omentielvo, Thranduil. And Gabrielin! You have changed much for the better!" I could remember the last time I had seen Lord Elrond, and it had not been pretty. I had been out hunting with Legolas, and was covered in mud, not to mention wearing men's clothes. Elrond and my father had not been pleased. As it was, they were discussing a possible marriage, between Elladan and me, as I rightly recall, and Elrond dropped the subject politely at the slightest hint I wasn't as lady like as my father told him I was. I blushed at the thought, and downcast my eyes.  
  
" I thank you for your kind words, lord Elrond."  
  
Elrond took the place of honor next to Legolas on Thranduil's right, and Aragorn sat down next to me. He was still very young, in the eyes of the elves, but I could see his heart had many burdens. His face brightened from the solemn look he had set there when I smiled at him.  
  
" I don't bite, you know, Aragorn. You may sit down, if you wish." He pulled in his chair.  
  
" So, how go things in Rivendell?" My father was asking Elrond. I turned to my dinner companion as the first course was brought in- wood boar, a Mirkwood specialty.  
  
" You leave for Rohan soon?"  
  
" Yes, in a fortnight. I hear your father seeks to wed you off?"  
  
"Surely you do not wish to put in a plea for me yourself?" I said this laughingly.  
  
"Good heavens, no! You are more like to a sister than a wife."  
  
" Good. Besides, your heart is already given to another." Aragorn's face fell at the mention of Lord Elrond's daughter.  
  
"Elrond would have me marry you instead. I love you, Gabrielin, but my love is like that of a brother."  
  
" As is mine to that of a sister. We have been friends in childhood, and I know you very well, Aragorn. But I could not take what rightfully belongs to my kinswoman." We sat for several moments in silence. Finally he spoke.  
  
" The gown becomes you well." I panicked.  
  
"Do not let father hear you say that! Else he shall want us to be alone for the rest of the night, a wish neither you nor I want to happen." Aragorn's eyes opened wide at the thought.  
  
"He would do that?"  
  
"He would. So, tell me, of what nature is this king, Thengel, of whom you wish to seek service?"  
  
"He is a goodly man, but it will be nothing like home. Elrond wishes me to have earned the right to marry his daughter, and so I go forthwith to Rohan, so as to keep my heart on Gondor."  
  
"Elrond wishes for you to become king, then, before you wed the Lady Undómiel?"  
  
"Yes."  
  
"Well, you run a very good chance of marrying her, then. You will make a fine king, Aragorn." I chanced a glance over my shoulder to see my father peering at us intently.  
  
"Aragorn" I hissed. " Say something in my ear. I need flirting material." Aragorn looked at me strangely, but he got the message, and whispered in my ear.  
  
"My ladyship looks lovely tonight." I giggled nervously.  
  
"Thank you, Lord Aragorn, for your kind words. You are enjoying Mirkwood?"  
  
"All the more with your presence, milady." Now he was the one flirting.  
  
"You would like a walk in the gardens, milord? The flowers are just beginning to bloom." "Only if it should be accompanied by yourself." He got up, and offered me an arm. Even my father did not notice as we crept out of the hall to find someplace more private to talk.  
  
The gardens were quiet, with the occasional cricket song stifling the air. I sat down on a bench.  
  
"It is a conspiracy of fathers. I do not want marriage, but at least you can escape it. Go to Rohan, Aragorn. Go now, if you so wish. Varda bless you in your travels." Aragorn turned to go to the gate, but stopped, pondering something.  
  
'Come with me. Come with me, Gabrielin. We can go to Rohan together. You have skill with a spear, and a bow. You can disguise yourself as a man, and stay with me."  
  
"How could I get away with being with you all the time?"  
  
"Say that you are my squire. You are somewhat smaller than me, and will pass for a boy easier than most." I thought about this. It just might work.  
  
It was an empty and littered hall the next morning that heard the anguished cries of an angry father.  
  
"My daughter is GONE?"  
  
"She rode off sometime in the night, milord. The lord Aragorn, too, is missing." Thranduil growled.  
  
"If that man does anything to my daughter, he shall pay with his life." Elrond walked in, face set in an angry line.  
  
"Where is my foster son?"  
  
"Out eloping with my daughter!" Elrond's eyebrows shot up.  
  
"Aragorn would never do something like that."  
  
"He just did!" "Father, Gabrielin would never do that. I am sure she just ran off with Aragorn so as not to be trapped in marriage to a man she cannot love as a husband."  
  
Legolas was determined to be the voice of reason here.  
  
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This is my first story, so if the formatting is wrong, or messed up, forgive me. I reposted this after one very not so nice person (not mentioning any names) told me the formatting sucked. So.here it is. And I really don't care what you put in your reviews. Tell me it's been done, it's overrated, it totally stinks, I don't care. 


	2. Golden fields and golden trees

Thankee to my two reviewers! I love you both lots, especially Missy Miss. * hug hug * I would not have been able to dust this one off if not for you!  
  
A word on my characters. Thranduil, as well as some other characters I have written, suffer from an affliction I like to call 'humanization'. In plain English, this means they act like mortal men.  
  
Another note-last chapter may have been pulling you who read and reviewed in the wrong direction. Gabrielin neither desires nor has intentions to marry Aragorn. She accepts the fact that he loves Arwen, her 'cousin' (for the sake of writing.)  
  
And now, on to it!  
  
Chapter II  
  
The plains of the Gladden fields sprawled before us, green and golden carpets of grass and stone. I pulled my horse to a halt beside Aragorn. He pointed off to the distance silhouette of Lórien, rising majestically above the plain.  
  
"There lies the golden wood and the river Anduin. And following the river, Rohan. Gabrielin, are you sure you want to do this? Run away from your father, I mean. He only has your best interests at heart."  
  
"But to arrange a marriage? Father is slipping, Aragorn. He no longer remembers Valinor, or the shores of his birth. Sometimes, he reminds me more of a man, or a dwarf, and less like one of the Sindar. His greed consumes him." I looked into the ruffled mane of my horse Silverwinds. To long had my father sat in his vaults, admiring his jewels, when he should have been ruling his kingdom. Legolas was a fine prince, but I wished so that my father could see what his son had done so well. All he saw now was worth, in jewels or use.  
  
"He has forgotten the ways of our people.as has Girion. It pains me, Aragorn. Love I Lórien, and my kinswomen there, and love I still more Rivendell, but to be home now is a sword in my heart." I ran a hand through the horse's mane. "I fear I should die of grief to be home much longer."  
  
"Then do not stay home! Arwen could use a companion; she spends too much time in the company of her grandmother. Much as I love the Lady of the Golden wood, I think your company would be appreciated. By me, and by my heart." His heart.Arwen.  
  
"Aragorn, if it will make the sorrowful frown on your face disappear, then yes, I will go to Lórien to keep my kinswoman's company." I turned Silverwinds nose from due south, and nudged my mount westward, to the house of my kinswoman Galadriel. "Aragorn? Still you ride to Rohan?" "Aye, sister. This sword of mine lusts for something other than practice dummies and the taste of elven steel. In a fortnight, I shall ride with my brothers. "Then fare you well, son of Arathorn. May your roads be blessed. I will carry your heart home in safekeeping to those you know would need it." He raised his hand in farewell, and we departed on our separate roads.  
  
"Gabrielin! Good it is to see you walk these woods again." Haldir and his brothers lowered themselves from the trees as I called a greeting up to the treetops.  
  
"Good it is to see your faces again, sons of the Galadrim. I desire an audience with the Lady. Be you able to take me to her?" The stern blond March warden nodded in his curt, clipped way, and he took Silverwinds' bridle, leading us on paths unseen to the heart of the forest.  
  
"Gabrielin! It not long since you left us.already you desire to see the golden wood again?" I smiled and bowed for the Lady of Light, her presence nearly blinding for the eyes that still needed to adjust to the milky light of the mallorns.  
  
"Nay lady, but there are urgent councils I must take to. I came for guidance." The Lady smiled in her ancient, mysterious way.  
  
"Come then, daughter of Mirkwood, and we will walk and hold this council in my garden."  
  
I have always loved the Lady's gardens, overflowing with delicate niphredil and élanor, and other blossoms from over the sea and across the waters that I could not name. Galadriel saw me looked at an enormous spray of tiny roses, arrayed like a sun, in delicate purple.  
  
"That is the Arosril. It, until a little time ago, grew only in Forochel, in the far north. Strange it is that something that delicate can survive in such harshness. And that, " she motioned to the blooms of gold beside it, " are the golden flowers of Glorfindel's house. Laurelen, they are called." She smiled sorrowfully about her garden.  
  
"All of these I have found on my travels, clipped into careful sprigs, and planted here. Some survive and some do not. But it is a reminder to me that I am also not born here, and to be uprooted from a life long tried is a hard thing." She turned to look at me. "That is why you have come, is it not? Your father uproots you, wishes to displace you like my flowers?"  
  
"No, but akin to what you say, milady. He wanes in his blood.the elf inside supplants itself, while his feet remain rooted in his golden hordes and this good middle earthen dirt. He would have me marry against my wishes."  
  
"And what are your wishes, Gabrielin?"  
  
"I.do not know, milady. I have seen what men think of me, but.have not found the right one." The lady laughed.  
  
"Then it is good that you wait. Sometimes love is a strange thing, easily lost but never easily forgotten. You would be wishing to stay here, then?" she saw my answer in my eyes, and nodded, ever serene.  
  
"I will send messengers to Mirkwood.your father will wonder what happened to you. And we will talk of my cousin. Come, daughter." She took my hand, and we walked, neither of us having to say a word on the beauty of nature's splendor.  
  
Later in the evening, when the sun had quit her lofty chair and nightingales joined us at our music making, Rumil, the brother of Haldir, pulled me aside for a few words. "My brother is glad you are back." I frowned inwardly to myself. Rumil wanted to speak on his brother's behalf, then? I would hear him out, in the least.  
  
"I am glad to be back in the company of the Galadrim." I tried to sound confused.  
  
"Gabrielin, I hate to be so forward, but I fear I must convey what my heart tells me. Haldir is not generous with his love, and I am afraid he will waste ere his love is not returned. I know you like him not, but please, give him at least the chance to tell you his adoration." I smiled. Rumil was young yet in the eyes of Lórien, but I could see that for his limited years, countless accounts of wisdom lay behind his thoughtful blue eyes.  
  
"I will speak with him.but I can promise nothing." In the depths of my heart, I could feel something stir.something I mistook for fear.  
  
I put off talking to the March warden for a day, and another, and still another, the fear of such an encounter weighting me down. Truth to be told, he found me.  
  
"Milady Gabrielin? Might I have the pleasure of a few words?" I was in the garden, reading a book by the faded light of the midday sun. Putting the tome aside, I motioned for him to sit.  
  
"Certainly! What was it you wished to speak of?" The elf appeared uncomfortable, as if I had rubbed salt in an open cut. He swallowed.  
  
"Has my brother spoken to you lately?" He knew.  
  
"Yes. I should have found you sooner. I meant to speak to you of it, but.I was afraid."  
  
"Afraid of what?"  
  
"That question is easier asked then answered, I am sorry to say. I know not what. Perhaps.perhaps it is better to say that I fear love." He looked inquisitively at me. "I know not how to explain such a thing, only that it is because I have seen what love can do, and it has, in my eyes, only hurt those who have it. I fear the yoke of marriage.I fear childbirth." I cast aside my eyes. It was well known that my mother had died when giving birth to Girion, the child that even the saintly Galadriel swore behind closed doors was haunted by some demon or device of Dark lords unnamable.  
  
"Only a servant of Morgoth would be able to kill your mother, Gabrielin. Strong she was in life and yet having birthed two children with out complaint, the third was her doom. No good will ever come of Girion." she had told me once. Haldir took my hand, and turned my face towards his. Today his eyes seemed less severe, and more accepting.  
  
"Think you I would force something like that? I care not for children, and well you know this. Please, I beg you, princess, consider me." He got up and left, leaving me to contemplate my feelings in peace.  
  
"Gabrielin, cousin mine! Good it is to see you again!" The raven beauty I knew as Arwen rushed, unladylike, to greet me as her entourage arrived at Caras Galadon.  
  
"My sister! It is a gift from heaven to hear your voice again." I pulled her close, being the taller of the two of us. I whispered in her ear.  
  
"Aragorn sends his greetings." Old greetings, having waited nearly a month to be given, but they were the only word she would have had from him in months. I could hear a tiny gasp.  
  
"We will speak later." She looked into my ice blue eyes, a hidden smile in those pools of gray.  
  
Once inside the talan reserved for the use of the Princess of Rivendell, and the Granddaughter of the Lady, she nearly exploded with questions.  
  
"When last did you see him? Still thinks he well of me?"  
  
"Arwen, a stupid question to ask of the man who would die for you. Still he thinks you above all creatures that walk this earth. When last we parted, he had ridden to Rohan. To seek the service of the horse lords." At the scared look on Arwen's face as I told her of our parting, I could not help but turn from the tale to ask a question.  
  
"My sister.a question. How do you do it?" her brow creased, not catching the spider web thin string of question I asked  
  
"I understand you not."  
  
"While Aragorn is gone.how do you stand it?" She smiled, a world-weary smile for one of the Eldar.  
  
"I do not.I hope against all hope that he comes to his inheritance, and my father grants me to him full willing when the time is ripe for marriage." She looked into my face, sensing my inner turmoil at the mention of 'marriage'.  
  
"Haldir has asked you, has he not? I can see it in your eyes. There is unrest. I will not judge your words. What is said says with the sky." I tried to hold it back, the floodtide of fears, but it overwhelmed.  
  
"I love.oh gods in Valinor, do I wish for love! And he offers it in open hands, and how can I refuse? But I fear.I fear my father, and I fear love and consequence.what if I love him not? I would rather sail to Valinor. There I know my love would be held true." I did not realize I was weeping. Arwen laid a hand around my shoulder.  
  
"I think love has found you, sister. But I think Haldir should try harder to win his ladylove. You cannot see this love he claims, and that is what mocks you from opening your heart's doors. Come sister, and we shall see my grandmother. I know she desires to speak with me.  
  
I had lived in the woods for unspeakable years with the Lady, as time as the real world knows it matters not to the immortal elves, never wishing to go back to Mirkwood, when my brother paid me a visit some time later.  
  
"My sister! I had once more taken you for gone. Home has lost it's light without you, Gabrielin."  
  
"I could not bring myself to come home, with Father.as he is." I trod upon the ice of my father's condition with dainty feet. I didn't know how my brother would take my words, but his eyes showed the knowledge he wished he did not have; he saw it too.  
  
"I came not to return you. I go to Rivendell on the morrow for councils.there is a matter I must tell the Lord Elrond of." He lowered his voice. "Gollum has escaped." I held back a gasp. Even though the creature itself was not to be feared, it seemed that this would forebode evil beyond reckoning.  
  
"Then.Isildur's bane calls it? The bane of men has been found?" Legolas nodded, his look grave.  
  
I begged leave from the lady to ride with my brother on these councils.  
  
Right now, the council of Elrond scene is in the process of being typed. Please read and review! 


	3. Perilous Councils

I sat beside my brother in the great council chamber, observing my fellows as they took their seats. Beornings, dwarves from the Iron hills and the Lonely Mountain, Elves form Mirkwood, Rivendell, and Lórien alike, Elrond's advisors, and.Aragorn, too? He nodded at me, a slight smile on his normally serious face. Mithrandir, too, sat here, along with a small creature I could only assume was a hobbit. I had never seen one before, but had heard tales from my brother, who had met one Bilbo Baggins some years ago during the battle of the five armies. And also stood in this midst stood a tall man of the south, proud and haughty of glance, yet fair of face and feature. My heart told me his intentions here were not good ones, fraught with greed, as men so often are. Elrond rose from his chair, and began to speak.  
  
"Strangers from distant lands, friends of old. You have been summoned here to answer the threat of Mordor. Middle-Earth stands upon the brink of destruction. None can escape it. You will unite or you will fall. Each race is bound to this fate--this one doom." He gestured towards the pedestal in the middle of the chamber. "Bring forth the Ring, Frodo." The hobbit rose, and with some uncertainty, pulled a golden circ from his pocket, and laid it on the plinth. The man of the South spoke.  
  
"So it is true." The entire council could not help but stare at the seemingly harmless trinket. Could it really be the fable ring of doom, the one to rule them all? The Gondorian rose to address the council.  
  
"In a dream, I saw the eastern sky grow dark. But in the West a pale light lingered. A voice was crying: Your doom is near at hand." He was mesmerized by the pull of the circlet, using every ounce of resistance he possessed to keep from touching it. "Isildur's Bane is found." His hand reached out, hovering above the ring. Once more, men had failed their test. "Isildur's Bane."  
  
Elrond leapt up, visibly angered and, in more than one way, fearful. He had seen the ring take its first bearer, and this man was not different.  
  
"Boromir!" he shouted. In all the years I had known the Lord of Imaladris, he had never before shouted, even when time was dire. The ring began to speak, and it seemed as if a sudden storm was being summoned. I looked at my brother, frightened at what might come of this. The rest of the council looked around wildly, wondering if Elrond had caused the storm, as was sometimes his wont. Mithrandir sprang from his chair with vitality I had never seen in him, and started to chant in Adunic, the black speech echoing horrendously in the chamber. I knew the tale of the ring as well as any other, and that was most certainly the inscription on the ring.but why he chose that, I know not. But the ring's chant subsided, and several of the members of the council who had risen took their seats, still fearful of any other mischief the object of these meetings would cause. Elrond was furious.  
  
"Never before has any voice uttered the words of that tongue here in Imaladris!" Gandalf appeared weary, but his answer and purpose were clear.  
  
"I do not ask your pardon, Master Elrond, for the Black Speech of Mordor may yet be heard in every corner of the West! The Ring is altogether Evil!" his glance at Boromir left the man from the south untroubled. Clearly, he had never seen the wizard in full strength and complete anger.  
  
"It is a gift. A gift to the foes of Mordor. Why not use this Ring?" he began to pace, walking the length of the circle, looking each councilman or woman in the eye. I sat, straight-backed and serene, as he passed me, a flick of longing going through his eyes as he looked at me. Had he some woman he would die for in his castles of stone? But he continued. "Long has my father, the Steward of Gondor, kept the forces of Mordor at bay. By the blood of our people are your lands kept safe! Give Gondor the weapon of the enemy. Let us use it against him!" This man had not the faintest idea of what he was asking. Aragorn spoke, and his serious voice rang out amidst the frightened silence the ring had left.  
  
"You cannot wield it! None of us can. The One Ring answers to Sauron alone. It has no other master." Boromir turned to look at the Dunadan, affronted that he had been interrupted.  
  
"And what would a ranger know of this matter?" He knew not the man who would be king? But this was the steward's son.he had been born to rule in Aragorn's stead. My brother took from his chair, all self-preservation gone.  
  
"This is no mere ranger. He is Aragorn, son of Arathorn. You owe him your allegiance." Legolas' face was contorted with fury well hidden. Aragorn was a good friend, as well as just and honest man, and to see his good name pushed about in such a contemptuous manner was angering beyond belief. The man of the south seemed not to believe it.  
  
"Aragorn? This... is Isildur's heir?"  
  
"And heir to the throne of Gondor." A wise move, brother. You have succeeded in making what would have been an ally an enemy. I looked at Aragorn, a warning in my eyes. He took the hint.  
  
"Havo dad, Legolas". Reluctantly, my brother sat back down, but not without throwing a sneer at Boromir, who gave an equaling quailing look at Aragorn.  
  
"Gondor has no king. Gondor needs no king." He returned to his seat, glowering at this new information. Mithrandir spoke again.  
  
"Aragorn is right. We cannot use it." Elrond seemed relived that someone was coming to his or her senses.  
  
"You have only one choice. The Ring must be destroyed." One of the younger dwarves grabbed his axe, impetuous and unthinking, as dwarves most often are.  
  
"Then what are we waiting for?" With a tremendous yell, he brought the axe down on the ring. The axe head exploded, and the dwarf was thrown back. The hobbit put a hand to his head, as if some vision troubled him. Elrond was being tried within an inch of his patience here, and he was doing an admirable job of not striking someone.  
  
"The Ring cannot be destroyed, Gimli, son of Glóin, by any craft that we here possess. The Ring was made in the fires of Mount Doom. Only there can it be unmade. It must be taken deep into Mordor and cast back into the fiery chasm from whence it came." There was an unpleasant silence as he looked at us.  
  
"One of you must do this." The room was unquestionably silent. Boromir looked at Elrond as though he were mad.  
  
"One does not simply walk into Mordor. Its black gates are guarded by more than just Orcs. There is evil there that does not sleep. And the great Eye is ever watchful. It is a barren wasteland. Riddled with fire and ash and dust. The very air you breathe is a poisonous fume. Not with ten thousand men could you do this. It is folly!" Legolas, indignant once more, stood again. This man from the south vexed him mightily.  
  
"Have you heard nothing Lord Elrond has said? The Ring must be destroyed!" The dwarf who had previously tried to destroy the ring leapt to his feet.  
  
"And I suppose you think you're the one to do it?!" my brother has never been good with dwarves. It was under his watch that thirteen dwarves were brought into the dungeons of Mirkwood, and under his watch that they also escaped. They were the blight on his existence. Boromir rose again.  
  
"And if we fail, what then?! What happens when Sauron takes back what is his?!"  
  
Gimli shouted, "I will be dead before I see the Ring in the hands of an Elf!" at his, the carefully put together peace exploded. In the midst of the argument I was having with my brother over why he should keep his anger to himself, I heard Gimli say,  
  
"Never trust an Elf!" The hobbit still sat, looking at the ring as if he were ill and his entire survival depended on it. Gandalf tried to make himself heard above the din.  
  
"Do you not understand that while we bicker amongst ourselves, Sauron's power grows?! None can escape it! You'll all be destroyed!" His cries fell on deaf ears. Still arguing, I heard a small voice. "I will take it! I will take it!" I stopped speaking, and turned to look at Frodo. Beside me, everyone else did the same, astonished at the courage of the small hobbit.  
  
"I will take the Ring to Mordor. Though-- I do not know the way."  
  
There was silence as Gandalf walked towards the halfling to put a reassuring arm around his small shoulders.  
  
"I will help you bear this burden, Frodo Baggins, as long as it is yours to bear." Aragorn rose, some fragment of the wanderlust still living in his bones after sixty years appealing to the warrior in his blood.  
  
"If by my life or death, I can protect you, I will." He knelt before the hobbit, a hand on his heart. "You have my sword." Legolas looked to get up, but instead, I stood.  
  
"And my bow." My brother gave me an odd look, and in his heart I knew he would have gone had I not stood. But we would have words later. I walked to join then, those elves that knew me smiling at my action. But the dwarf, not to be upstaged by some 'pointy ear' stood, as I had known he would.  
  
"And my axe!" Had I let my brother go in my stead, tempers would be on constant flare through the whole trip. The steward's son rose as well.  
  
"You carry the fate of us all little one. If this is indeed the will of the Council, then Gondor will see it done." There was a rustle in the bushes, and from the greenery came another hobbit, with a sandy hair and a determined look on his face.  
  
"Mr. Frodo is not goin' anywhere without me!" Elrond seemed amused.  
  
"No indeed, it is hardly possible to separate you even when he is summoned to a secret council and you are not." There was a shout, and two more hobbits emerged from behind pillars. Elrond was beginning to become miffed.  
  
"Wait! We are coming too!" The older one crossed his arms. "You'd have to send us home tied up in a sack to stop us!" The younger nodded vigorously.  
  
" Anyway you need people of intelligence on this sort of mission, quest... thing." I sincerely doubted his wisdom, but if his heart were with us in this endeavor, then I would stand by his decision. I could hear the elder whisper,  
  
"Well, that rules you out Pip." Elrond, having gotten over the interruptions, mused as he looked us over.  
  
"Nine companions... So be it! You shall be the Fellowship of the Ring!"  
  
"Great!" the younger hobbit exclaimed, "Where are we going?" I frowned inwardly. A journey of this size would take quite a while.  
  
Thank heaven that's over. I apologize for all the Legolas fan girls who just had their part stomped on. But he's free for the next year. I will loan the elf to the first person that promises not to abuse him! Any who, I will be starting the first part of their quest soon. My plan is not to rewrite the whole damn thing, just bits. Next up-brother sister talk on motives and mindfulness. 


	4. The Only Question WHY?

I have just realized I keep forgetting to put disclaimers. I own nothing- will that work? *Cowers in front of lawyers brandishing copyright infringements. *  
  
People filed silently out of the council chamber. My stride was purposeful; I had to prepare for my trip. My brother ran out after me, still trying to fathom why it was that I took the place I knew he would have filled.  
  
"Sister! Gabrielin? Gabrielin, will you not listen to me?" I turned to look him straight in the face.  
  
"No, Legolas, it is you who must listen to me." He opened his mouth to speak, but I held a hand up, and looked away; my eyes pained me.  
  
"You would have gone on this quest, and you would have left me here for the mercies of a force so powerful I cannot withstand the breaking waves. I do not wish for love; heaven knows I find enough solace in the Golden Wood. But I cannot resist the pull of a heart. Let me go on this one last quest, Legolas, before I am forever harnessed to a house and home." I looked at him. "This is not how it should have been-but I have seen another path for one man should I take your stead." I turned, and returned to my room. I had things to pack, and plans to lay with Aragorn and Mithrandir.  
  
Before we left, I remember biding my brother goodbye. He looked at me, hair pulled into utilitarian braids, wearing a tunic and leggings as he often wore.  
  
"You look much as you did when we were children." I smiled. Those had been the days, when my arrows flew freely and my legs remembered running.  
  
"Fear not for me brother. I know not if ever I should return from these journeys, but gears have been set in motion that cannot be reversed. But for one sacrifice, some good may come. I know not what, though. Namarie, brother of mine." The shadow of a tear made its nest in the corner of his eye.  
  
Once outside of Rivendell, Aragorn spoke to me, his voice quiet and solemn. "So, Gabrielin, need I tell you this will be a hard road? There are orcs in plenty, and fell evils about." I looked at the son of Arathorn.  
  
"Need I remind you, Dunadan, that I used to beat you up in the practice yards with a quarter staff if you insulted my womanhood? And you are one of the best, and still you find yourself on the ground after a spar with me." Gimli chuckled from behind me, Aragorn flushing a little at the memory. I smiled slightly, going on.  
  
"I know hardship, and I know a long road. My life has been a long road...long and winding. You need not tell me this road is a hard one; my heart has already told me so." I looked at Frodo, beside Gandalf at the front of the line, his companion Samwise, shouldering a pack twice as big as he, and the two youngest hobbits, Merry and Peregrin, being shepherded along by Boromir.  
  
"And for the Pheriannath, this road will be especially long."  
  
Dundundun- and the next snippet shall be-the golden wood! See the small and easily avoidable button in the corner there? Click it and tell me what you think. 


	5. Back in the Golden Wood

I breathed in, the familiar scent of the golden wood's loam filling my sensitive nose. Still lingering in my mind was the half rotten reek that permeated Moria, long dead flesh and rotting goblin minions. Yet, there was a strain here that had not been in the Wood when I had left. I turned to Aragorn.  
  
"The March warden will try to surprise us. It is his custom to scare those not of Elvish blood." I whispered in the Man's ear in Elvish, hushed toned to not frighten the little ones. Gimli was reassuring Frodo and Sam that nothing would get past him. The stretching taught of a bowstring broke the fragile calm, and I turned to face Orophin, the point of a shaft in my face. Haldir stepped from between the ranks of the Galadhrim.  
  
"The dwarf breathes so loud we could have shot him in the dark." The captain and his company herded us up into the hunting flets in the mallorns, where they had been keeping watch.  
  
"Ah, Aragorn of the dunadain. Your name is known to us." Haldir had not known my face, and would not know it until he looked at it my true name. Gimli grew impatient.  
  
"So much for the legendary courtesy of the elves! Speak words we can all understand!" Haldir shot the dwarf an annoyed, superior look.  
  
"We have not had dealings with the dwarfs since the dark days." Gimli frowned, his temper flaring. I could read the signs on his face better than anyone, and knew when to stay clear of him. And now was not a good time to be pushing him over the line of patience.  
  
"And you know what this dwarf says to that?" He called Haldir a very bad name in Khuzdul. Aragorn took his shoulder rather roughly, turning the dwarf to face him.  
  
"That was not so courteous." Haldir then looked at me. A strange light shown in his eyes, and his expression softened.  
  
"Gabrielin? You have returned to us again?" I set my face in a line.  
  
"No, Haldir. I will leave when they do. It is my duty." I looked at Frodo sitting, looking forlorn from his sojourn in Moria. Haldir looked at the tiny hobbit, growing fear in his eyes.  
  
"You bring great evil here.you can go no further." I looked at Aragorn, and he stepped forward to try and reason with the March warden. As I continued my watch of Frodo, he seemed to look more like an angel in the growing dim of the forest tops, shining in the faint glow of the mallorns. Boromir looked to comfort the hobbit, but Aragorn had finished. Haldir, looking disinclined to honor our request.  
  
"You would follow me."  
  
On the second day of our trek through the woods, Haldir led us up a rise, and pulled some of the underbrush tenderly back.  
  
"Calas Galadon, the heart of elvendom on earth. Realm of the lord Celeborn, and of Galadriel, lady of light." His face betrayed that he was truly happy to be home again.  
  
Up, up, up we climbed, into the heart of the trees, and led to the platform where the lord and lady met guests. When the lord and lady appeared, the hobbits looked at Galadriel as if she were God, arrayed in silvering splendor. Boromir appeared unsettled, and Aragorn reverently bowed his head. Celeborn spoke.  
  
"the enemy knows you have entered here. What hope you had in secrecy is now lost. Eight there are here, yet nine there were set out from Rivendell. Tell me, where is Gandalf, for I much desire to speak with him, as I can no longer see him from afar." I had to speak. But the lady realized it first, looking from me, then to Aragorn, who turned away, nearly in tears. Images flashed in my memory, flames, Moria, the bridge, and Gandalf, clinging to that edge. 'Fly, you fools!'. The words echoed in my mind.  
  
"Gandalf the gray did not pass the borders of this land.he has fallen into shadow." The Lady's voice was severed from her body, as it always was when she soothsaid, light and nearly transparent.  
  
"He was taken by a creature of both shadow and flame.A balrog of Morgoth." I bowed my head in shame, not wanting to look at my uncle's face. "For we went needlessly into the net of Moria." The lady spoke, comforting me. "Needless were none of the deeds of Gandalf in life. We do not yet know his whole purpose. Do not let the great emptiness of Khazad-dûm fill your heart, Gimli, son of Glóin. For the world has grown full of peril. And in all lands, love is now mingled with grief." I looked up in time to see the normally strong Boromir turn his tearstained face away, crying unceasingly and silent.  
  
"What now becomes of this Fellowship? Without Gandalf, hope is lost." I looked up. Times must be dire indeed; for the Lord of Lórien to say that hope was lost as he did. Galadriel's voice had come back down to earth, tangible, in the real.  
  
"The quest stands upon the edge of a knife. Stray but a little, and it will fail, to the ruin of all." She thought for a moment. "Yet hope remains while company is true. Go now and rest, for you are weary with sorrow and much toil. Tonight, you will sleep in peace." And in my head, she added, "There is someone who would have words with you, daughter of the trees. Go thou to him." The wardens escorted us back down to the forest floor, where beds had been prepared for us. While everyone else readied for bed, I went to search for Haldir.  
  
"You did not tell me you would return!"  
  
"I did not tell you I would leave, either." Haldir looked at me, genuine concern in his blue eyes.  
  
"I was afraid, when we had no word save that you had ridden with a company of eight others from Rivendell. What drove you to this madness?"  
  
"A path not trod save for my feet." Haldir looked at me, a longing in his eyes. I went on. "There is one among us who must die. I have seen it; Galadriel has seen it. This is his doom. You cannot cheat Death- a life for a life is the only payment he understands. If I go, things may be different for this man-for the love he shares." Haldir's eyes still shown with concern. He knew that I would die.  
  
"And what of our love? Do you not love me?" I looked at him, and the passion in his eyes ebbed.  
  
"I do, but.there are many paths to tread.and the path of death .is a golden path. For me, and for whom I die." I turned to leave, but he grabbed my arm, and kissed me. It was not a formal peck, no. This was the kiss he'd been holding onto for so long, it pained me to see it rush out this way. And the only thing I could do was kiss him back.  
  
I was going to get water when I heard the clear singing of a dirge. The hobbits heard it too, not knowing what was being sung.  
  
"A lament for Gandalf." I paused, taking in the words. Merry looked up from his bedroll.  
  
"What do they say about him?" I half smiled.  
  
"I have not the heart to say.for me, the grief is still too near." I looked at Frodo, still in his dream world, lost without the friendly graying man by his shoulder. Sam stopped making his bed.  
  
"Bet they don't mention his fireworks.ought to be a verse about them." He stood up to recite. "The finest rockets ever seen, they burst in stars of blue and green. And after thunder, silver showers, came falling like a rain of flowers.oh that doesn't do them justice be a long road." I set the pitcher down and laid a hand on Sam's shoulder.  
  
"It was beautiful, Samwise. You truly have a gift with words. You should write some of it down." Sam blushed.  
  
"Thank you, milady." I chuckled. It was the first time he'd had enough courage to speak to me outright.  
  
"You may call me Gabrielin, Sam. The only Lady here in the wood is Galadriel." Merry looked up from making his bed again.  
  
"Have you ever met the lady before, Gabrielin?" I smiled. One had to be patient with these younglings.  
  
"Yes, Meriadoc. I used to live here." The hobbits' eyes grew wide. Pippin moved closer.  
  
"Did you really?"  
  
"Yes. It's a wonderful place, full of magic and mystery. Many happy days were spent here." I gazed off, remembering a time when jewelry was the least of my concerns. I sighed. The past cannot be changed, and it is not good to lament over times lost and gone. "But now is the time for young hobbits to be going to bed." There were groans.  
  
"But we're old enough not to go to bed on time!" I looked at Pippin, who was giving me a puppy dog scowl.  
  
"Nonsense. We have a busy day ahead of us tomorrow. You will not want to be falling asleep." Rather grudgingly, Merry and Pippin scooted themselves into their beds. Sam was already asleep. Frodo was fitfully turning, as if haunted by some dreamful specter. I began to sing, lulling the four to sleep, the same lullaby my mother had sung to me, long ago.  
  
"A gentle breeze from Hushabye Mountain softly blows O'er lullabye bay.  
  
It fills the sail of boats that are waiting; Waiting to sail your  
  
worries away.  
  
It isn't far to Hushabye Mountain, and you boat waits down by the quay  
  
The winds of night so softly are sighing, soon they will fly your troubles to sea.  
  
So close your eyes on Hushaby Mountain. Wave goodbye to cares of the day.  
  
And watch your boat from Hushabye Mountain sail far away From lullabye bay." The eyelids drooped, and soon all four were sleeping soundly, lost in dreams. I tucked the covers round their chins, and looked up at the crack of a twig to see Boromir looking at me rather oddly. I smiled. Truly, this man of the south was rock and stone to not see that these young minds still needed a motherly figure.  
  
"Did not your mother sing to you as a child, son of Gondor?" He nodded, reminiscing. I then remembered the steward's wife was dead.  
  
"Yes. You remind me of her, in many ways. You remind me of many people I love." Is that why you avoid me then, son of the south? He went on. "And every time I hear your voice, my thoughts turn to home." He fingered the star cut white stone he wore about his neck.  
  
"Where is she, the woman who gave you that jewel?" Boromir continued to study the pendant, as if willing it to show him something he desired greatly.  
  
"Back in Gondor, in the White City, waiting for my return with an anxious heart. Waiting with my brother." His voice was sorrowful, as if it pained him to think he could ever return home.  
  
"Do you think of them often?"  
  
"Every blessed day. My brother is strong at heart, but our father despairs of him, and I fear that Faramir will go to great pains to win his love. And I fear what will happen to my rose should the city be taken.my white rose in the field of thorns. As I got up and left him to his memories, I heard him singing. "All you who are in love And cannot it remove I pity the pains you endure For experience lets me know That your hearts are full of woe A woe that no mortal can cure A woe that no mortal can cure."  
  
Early in the morning on the day of our departure, Aragorn found me sitting in the forest, legs crossed, and hands on my knees. He nodded a silent greeting, and sat beside me in the predawn light.  
  
" I heard you talking with Boromir last night."  
  
"Nothing escapes the ears of a Ranger."  
  
" He talked to you of Rhoswen, then?"  
  
"That is her name, this white rose of which he speaks so fondly?" Aragorn nodded. "Then you two are brothers of fortune. Both men in love, which is an ocean wide and deep that many find themselves in, and as far away from that which they love as is possible without venturing into death. And in this also you are brothers of blood, bound to the same land. And so you find yourselves in the same boat amidst this sea. But.will you row with each other? Talk to him, make him your friend, your brother. Share in his hopes, and give him a share in your hopes as well. Your fates are intertwined, and should one fail, the other stands to fail as well. You two working together for a common goal could do uncommon things." We sat for a time in silence, Aragorn digesting my advice, I taking in the sunrise. "How is the lady Evenstar? My chance to speak with her last in Rivendell was brief." Aragorn sighed. "She is well, but her father still withholds her from me. Love is a golden thing abused by those who cannot see it's worth." The Dunadan said bitterly. I laid a hand on his shoulder.  
  
"As a friend to you both, I say that Elrond only wants what is best for the both of you. And as your sister, I say only that there is a time and place for everything, and you, little brother, need to learn patience. When the White City opens it's gates for you, then the time will be right." I got up to over see packing up camp, and left Aragorn to finish watching the sun. 


	6. Many a Parting Bittersweet

The lady summoned for us before we were due to leave, saying that she had gifts that might prove of some worth to us.  
  
" Never before have we clad strangers in the garb of our own people. May these cloaks shield you from unfriendly eyes." Celeborn was as solemn as ever in the dim morning light, a faint mist rising from the lips of all present in the chill air. Haldir touched my heart with a gentle hand as he fastened my cloak on, pinning the Lórien brooch together, and pressing a sachet into my hand as he stepped away, a smile lingering in his eyes and an unspoken kiss on his lips.  
  
"My gift to you, Gabrielin, is a bow of the Galadhrim, worthy of the skill of our woodland kin." She handed me with open hands a silky wooden longbow such as the Marchwarden carried, a goodly six feet in length in complement to the six and a half nature had blessed me with, delicately inlaid with vines in gold, and pressed into the finely bent wood was a G rune for my name. Strung on it was a single golden hair, presumably taken from the Lady's head herself. Merry and Pippin both received hunting daggers made in Alqualonde before the war of the silmarils, tried in many battles and trusted by many hands.  
  
"Do not fear, young Peregrin Took. You will find your courage." Sometimes, I reminded my self as I tested the bow, the wood flexing evenly with my practiced hand, courage is the voice in the morning saying, I will do better today.  
  
Sam was gifted a box of dirt from the Lady's garden, that plot of blessed plots, and a shank of hithlain rope woven by the Lady's maids, the cord that could not be found nor made anywhere else on earth. Boromir was bequeathed a golden belt of finely crafted leaves, wrought for some prince of olden Eldar days; Aragorn, a hunting knife from Celeborn and the Elessar, Elfstone of the Elves shaped by Celebrimbor himself, from Galadriel.  
  
Celeborn pulled Aragorn and me aside before we left, his tones hushed and warning.  
  
" Every league you travel south, the danger will increase. Mordor Orcs now hold the eastern shore of the Anduin." We continued to walk. "Nor will you find safety on the western bank. Strange creatures bearing the mark of the White Hand have been seen on our borders." His voice was urgent, almost fearful. Saruman had deserted our cause, and that was cause for fear enough.  
  
"Seldom do Orcs journey in the open, under the sun, yet these have done so!" He signed, releasing the fear. "Le aphadar aen." We were being followed.by Gollum, no doubt. Even in these sainted woods, the call of evil from Mordor was strong. "By river you have the chance of outrunning the enemy to the Falls of Rauros."  
  
Silently flows the River to the Sea, and our boats too flowed silently. Each stroke of my paddle found some hidden rhythm deep within the water, the heartbeat of the river making each stroke smooth.  
  
"I have taken my worst wound at this parting, having looked my last upon that which is fairest. Henceforth I will call nothing fair unless it be her gift to me." I smiled at the love-lorn dwarf.  
  
" What was her gift, Gimli?" He sighed.  
  
"I asked for one hair from her golden head. She gave me three." I remembered of one other man who had desired the hair of the Lady of the wood, and she had been uncouth to give it at the time. So Gimli, dwarf out of Eriabor, had succeeded where Feanor, maker of the silmarils and the master craftsman, had not.  
  
"And what will you do with your gift, Gimli?"  
  
"Immortalize them in crystal, to be an heirloom of my house and a symbol of the friendship between the mountain and the wood." I could only smile at his goodwill.  
  
Two days down the river, I heard Aragorn talking to Boromir, his back to the campfire, looking across the river. The rest of the company had gone to sleep, and I was sitting watching the faintly glowing embers, remembering the lady's face, fingering the medallion of fine knot-work that had been Haldir's gift to me, the small sapphires rough to my fingers.  
  
"Take some rest. Gabrielin and I have the watch."  
  
"I will find no rest. I heard her voice inside my head. Even now it still haunts me. She spoke of my father and the fall of Gondor. She said to me, "Even now, there is hope left." But I cannot see it. It is long since we had any hope." He paused, savoring the night air.  
  
" My father is a noble man, but his rule is failing. And now our. our people lose faith. He looks to me to make things right and I- I would do it. I would see the glory of Gondor restored." A small sign escaped his lips, and his voice became reverent, remembering the alabaster walls of home.  
  
"Have you ever seen it, Aragorn? The White Tower of Ecthelion, glimmering like a spike of pearl and silver. Its banners caught high in the morning breeze. Have you ever been called home by the clear ringing of silver trumpets?"  
  
" I have seen the White City, long ago."  
  
"One day, our paths will lead us there. And the tower guard shall take up the call: "The Lords of Gondor have returned!" So zealous for his city, for his passion-these two were brothers fate had not gifted. I heard a small splash, a deathlike gurgle, the merest whisper of the creature they called-  
  
"Gollum. He has tracked us since Moria. I had hoped we would lose him on the river. But he's too clever a waterman." My brother had studied the creature some. Apparently, he had been a Stoor from the Shire before the ring possessed him, the most water adept of all hobbits.  
  
"And if he alerts the enemy to our whereabouts it will make the crossing even more dangerous. Minas Tirith is the safer road. You know it. From there we can regroup.strike out for Mordor from a place of strength." Boromir was highly confident of the strength of men. I doubted it, Elrond doubted it, and brought up in a household of elves, the epitome of wisdom, I knew Aragorn doubted his own people too.  
  
"There is no strength in Gondor that can avail us." He should have said, there is no strength in Gondor that I trust. I could feel the enmity radiating from the Dunadan.  
  
"You were quick enough to trust the Elves. Have you so little faith in your own people? Yes, there is weakness. There is frailty. But there is courage also, and honor to be found in Men. But you will not see that. You are afraid! All your life, you have hidden in the shadows! Scared of who you are, of what you are." Aragorn, a coward? He feared not responsibility, but the curse of his blood, the frailty of men for power, a frailty that clearly possessed the line of Ecthelion. Aragorn made up his mind, his voice cold and tried.  
  
"I will not lead the Ring within a hundred leagues of your city." Both men sat down rather heavily by the fire, Boromir scowling, breaking a piece of wood over his knee, and flinging the pieces in the air, turning for his bed roll. Aragorn frowned at his retreating frame, fingering the hilts of his sword.  
  
"Peace, brother. He means no harm, only what he thinks will save his city, and those he loves." Aragorn looked deploringly at me.  
  
"This would be the man I call brother?" I nodded sagely, looking back at the fire and fingering the necklace. This road could be a long and lonely one, golden though it may be.  
  
What ho- a parting of the ways for our intrepid heroine? A friendship fire that will not hold spark? Resolutions next up-please read and review. I apologize for no pleas for reviews in those last chapters-I posted en masse- three this time! The little button in the corner-click it, please! I like opening my mailbox to find reviews! They're fun! And tell me if any one liked my DUNE allusion, if you know what it is, tell me! 


	7. Remember me this way

When we reached the Argonath, the whole of our company could not but stare at the marvels of men, those long gone before kin of Aragorn. Once on the shore, Merry and Boromir went to fetch firewood, while Sam, Gimli, and Frodo prepared camp.  
  
"We cross the lake at nightfall. Hide the boats and continue on foot. We approach Mordor from the north." Aragorn unceremoniously dumped a pile of gear by our campsite. Gimli, who had been sitting smoking, looked up at his words.  
  
"Oh, yes?! It's just a simple matter of finding our way through Emyn Muil? An impassable labyrinth of razor sharp rocks! And after that, it gets even better! Festering, stinking marshlands, far as the eye can see!" Aragorn frowned at Gimli, but I could see the dwarf had a point.  
  
"That is our road. I suggest you take some rest and recover your strength, Master Dwarf." Gimli was highly affronted.  
  
"Recover my...?!" I looked into the woods, then walked over to Aragorn.  
  
"We should leave now."  
  
"No. Orcs patrol the eastern shore. We must wait for cover of darkness." I smiled sadly.  
  
"My heart knew you would say that...it is not written in the story that is to be told that we should leave. But it is not the eastern shore that worries me. A shadow and a threat have been growing in my mind. The golden path draws near...I can feel it. I have seen this shore before in my dreams, and dark dreams they were." Aragorn looked at me. I had told him of these dreams I had, and they had greatly troubled him.  
  
"The golden path, you say? How is that path gold?"  
  
"I have not the heart to say...but when it comes, you will know why." Gimli was still brooding as I made my way over to the camp.  
  
"No dwarf need recover strength! Pay no heed to that, young Hobbit." Merry looked around, depositing his wood along side the stony circle where our fire would be.  
  
"Where's Frodo?" Sam jumped upon hearing that his master was gone, and Aragorn's head, as well as mine, turned as one to the neat pile of belongings by the stony ruins, the prominent circular shield hiding the pile. I exchanged a look with Aragorn, who laid a hand on his sword, and we set off in opposite directions to find the young hobbit.  
  
There was a strange feeling in my heart when I heard that horn call, resounding over the hills of the Nen Hithoel. I looked at Aragorn, hacking orcs with the cry 'Elendil' on his lips, and for a moment our eyes touched. He nodded, and I began to run, praying silently to every god who could be listening for strength, and courage. The path, I reassured myself, was a golden path, for me, and for those whom I die. Every heart beat seemed an eternity, and I ran as no living being on this earth has ever hoped to run before.  
  
As the ridge drew neared, and I crested the top, I could see the Uruk fit an arrow to his immense bow, notching it with expert hands, and letting the huge bolt fly. It hit Boromir's shoulder with such force the strong man buckled- but the wound was not one that could not be healed.  
  
As my feet passed in front of him, I felt a slice of hell itself hit me, nearly causing me to fall, but I stood my ground as the Gondorian backed into me, and there we fought, him stabbing, and I acting as the shield he had left in camp, taking three more bolts. I must not fail, I must not- for then all would be in vain- I told my self. As they hit, and set into my skin, I could feel the poison tips- these were met to kill in seconds- but I was stronger than they. I fired another arrow, the force of my bow causing the orc to be thrown backwards and skewered to a tree, a gruesome statue of sorts.  
  
Boromir's horn sounded once more, and then I crumpled, unable to take much more, a dagger in hand. Merry and Pippin came running over the ridge, swords in hands and a yell to wake the dead, and I watched them defend me, each one mad with fury that I should die. But, the hordes of the White Hand overwhelmed them, and they were borne off, the Uruks leaving us two to die. Boromir had fallen to his knees, the poison overwhelming ever him. The leader with the crossbow stared him down, fitting the last bolt to his bow, not two feet away.  
  
But then, a yell so horror-instilling, I had to open my glazing eyes to see who it was. Aragorn, furious as ever in the battle heat, came running over the ridge, brandishing his sword, dripping with blood-and sweat. As the Uruk turned, and the two began to fight, I looked at Boromir, whose eyes where beginning to close. I laid a hand on his chest, channeling what little untainted life there was left in me to him, the healing flowing from my bloodstained fingers.  
  
With a roar, and a rumble that shook the earth, the Uruk fell, dead. Aragorn rushed over, going to pull one of my arrows out, but I stayed him.  
  
"Leave it. The golden path, my friend." I reassured him, smiling. "See to Boromir. He is the one that needs your help now. I have done all that is within my power to do. He has a week to live, maybe...with his strength, I do not know...but Edoras is not that far off." Aragorn looked at me, a questioning look in his eyes.  
  
"Why did you do this?"  
  
"Because...he is needed more than I. His council is helpful to many, and many look to his return. Here." I gave him the necklace from Haldir with shaking hands.  
  
"Give this to him when he wakes. To remember me. And ...keep my bow. There are other hands that can make use of it. So that Gondor and her sons may remember me." Aragorn kissed my cheek. The last words I heard were  
  
"Gondor's sons shall remember you, daughter of the trees. And the honor of the golden path-the path of friendship." At last, at long last, he understood.  
  
-*-*-*-  
  
Normally, this is where I put my authors notes, but since no one has been reviewing, I am, alas, hard put to respond to anything. I am at a bit of a dilemma, however. I have the rest of the story minus the elf, but do not know whether I should post it as more chapters for this story or as an entirely new fic. 


	8. So she is dead, then?

Disclaimer- I own nothing.  
  
A big shout out to Lyn, at whose behest I reposted and fixed a great many things; I thank her very much.  
  
Oh, and please people, if you don't like it, please keep it civil and tell me nicely. I had a very rude reviewer who insulted me so much I took their reviews off.  
  
Pirates, ye be warned.  
  
-*-*-*-  
  
Aragorn looked at Gabrielin, and held the necklace to his chest. At a faint groan from Boromir, the Dunadan turned to his wounded friend.  
  
"Can you hear me, Boromir? Boromir?" The big man nodded slowly, each slight movement an arduous task.  
  
"They took the little ones."  
  
"Be still."  
  
"Frodo! Where is Frodo?"  
  
"I let Frodo go."  
  
"Then you did what I could not. I tried to take the Ring from him."  
  
"The Ring is beyond our reach now."  
  
"Forgive me. I did not see it. I have failed you all." He seemed close to tears at his moment of weakness.  
  
"No, Boromir, you fought bravely! You have kept your honor. And it is not your fault that the ring tempted you-far better men have fallen to it. I will draw out the arrow now." The Gondorian smiled weakly.  
  
"I have had...worse. Go on with your work." The warrior's eyes slid shut, steeling them selves for pain beyond measure and Aragorn unsheathed the knife at his waist.  
  
There was a chilling silence in the grove of dead as the shaft came clean.  
  
Hefting the larger man up, an arm around his shoulder, the two walked staggeringly back to the camp, where Gimli was cleaning his axe. He jumped up to report.  
  
"Sam and Frodo left, Aragorn...Aule help us, what happened to him?" Gimli looked at the bloodied Boromir, a fear in his eyes as yet unseen.  
  
"And where is Gabrielin?"  
  
"Gabrielin is dead, Merry and Pippin taken by orcs. I have bound his wound, but we must make haste to Rohan for proper medicine. The Uruks at taking the hobbits to Isengard- Saruman knows one halfling, at least, has the Ring." Gimli looked at Boromir, and helped the larger man sit down with his back against the walled ruins, and set off with Aragorn to retrieve Gabrielin's body.  
  
The Dunedin laid his sister-friend in the white Lórien boat, murderously close to tears, arraying her hair over the folded pillow of her cloak and brushing the leaves from her corpse. Aragorn looked about for a sprout of flowers to lay in her hands as her bow would have lain, but this forest had no such friendly sprays. He turned back from gazing into the forest to see Boromir unsteadily clasping her hands around his horn. The Gondorian stood back, shaking.  
  
"Why do you do this? Your father will despair to see your horn in hands not your own."  
  
"If the king is to return, than the office of the stewards will meet what death should have been mine. The tokens of the heir ship of the house of Húrin will come to naught. Let her take the horn which the first sons of Gondor's Stewards have bourn for long ages past, so that whomever comes upon this boat will know that by whatever great deed she met death she held favor with the son of Denethor, by whatever deed she died she won Boromir's respect and this is what ill placed gift he has to repay her greatest sacrifice" Aragorn smiled gravely, and together they two pushed the boat into the river, setting it adrift over the falls. Aragorn briefly whisper sang to the passing wind, and turned back, running his fingers over the medallion in his hands in thought. Some minute sound broke his reveries, and he pocketed the necklace.  
  
"We must make haste if we are to follow Merry and Pippin. Not all bounds of fellowship will break at this parting of ways. Take only what we need." Gimli smiled, and Boromir, half sleeping on his feet, wearily smiled too.  
  
"Let us hunt some orc." Injured though he was, Boromir's warlike nature still reigned in his mindset.  
  
The plains stretched before the three hunters, the grass waving like a banner in the breeze. Suddenly, Boromir dropped to the ground, gasping for breath. Aragorn looked at his face.  
  
"The poison-it is setting in. Let us hope-" he looked across looked across the hillocks, listening intently. He pulled the Lórien cloak over Boromir's now still body at the sound of hoof beats. An eored of Riders thundered by, green flags waving, unnoticing of the three in Lórien green, blending in with the grassy carpets. Aragorn cried out.  
  
"Riders of Rohan! What news from the mark?" The head rider turned with a gesture of his spear, and the tide of horse and man flesh turned as one fluid wave, until the triadic company was surrounded with the spears of the Rohirrim. The head rider broke into the circle, his tall white horse tailed helm showing his high of rank.  
  
"What business do a dwarf and a man have in the Riddermark? Speak quickly." Gimli smiled, brash and haughty.  
  
"Give me your name, horsemaster, and I shall give you mine."  
  
The captain scowled.  
  
"I would cut off your head, dwarf, if it stood but a little higher from the ground." Aragorn glowered at the dwarf in question before he could say more.  
  
"I am Aragorn, son of Arathorn. This is Gimli, son of Glóin. We are friends of Rohan and of Théoden, your king." The rider jumped lightly off his horse, his voice grim.  
  
"Théoden no longer recognizes friend from foe. Not even his own kin." At this, he drew his helmet off. "And since you were honest enough to tell me your names, I shall tell you mine-Éomer, son of Éomund. Saruman has poisoned the mind of the king and claimed lordship over these lands. My company are those loyal to Rohan. And for that, we are banished." His frown told the company of three that things were dourer than they seemed. Éomer went on. "The White Wizard is cunning. He walks here and there, they say, as an old man, hooded and cloaked. And everywhere his spies slip past our nets." He turned a mistrustful and condemning face at the threesome.  
  
"We are not spies." Aragorn assured him in his serious way.  
  
"Then why is it you travel with a package you have hidden from our sight, and you have not yet told us what it is?" At this, Aragorn motioned for the man to kneel beside the still form, drawing the cloak back to reveal the sleeping Boromir, turning a ghastly pale. Éomer drew back.  
  
"The son of the Steward? How came him by those wounds, that he lies so near the halls of his fathers? When the horse we lent him turned back rider- less, minds were not at peace."  
  
"We track a party of Uruk-hai westward across the plain, the same who gave him the wound that frails him. They've taken two of our friends captive."  
  
"The Uruks are destroyed. We slaughtered them during the night."  
  
"But there were two hobbits. Did you see two hobbits with them?" Gimli's hope was wearing ragged round the edges.  
  
"They would be small – only children to your eyes."  
  
"We left none alive. If any escaped our attack, then it was by magic or great luck of fate. We piled the carcasses and burned them."  
  
"Dead?"  
  
"I am sorry." He paused, thinking of something. "During the battle I saw what appeared to be boys go into Fangorn... perhaps your friends are there. I thought none of it last night ...the heat of battle does strange things to men's minds and it is of ill fortune to trust to visions and portents." He ignored the fearful look on Gimli's awestruck face, and whistled two horses forward.  
  
"Hasufel! Arod! May these horses bear you to better fortune than their former masters. Farewell." He mounted up, his face still in it's grim line. "Look for your friends. The golden hall is near, and there are healers there who will care for the Captain Heir. But do not trust to hope; it has forsaken these lands. The chances of your friends with life remaining still are slim." He beckoned to his riders, swinging his lance up so the flag at it's tip caught the breeze. "We ride north!"  
  
"Fangorn," said Gimli, awestruck, "What madness drove them in there?" Boromir stirred on the ground, and Aragorn looked at his comrade in arms. The bigger man rose, steadied himself, and started off after Gimli, who was wandering towards the smoking pile with a wide eyed look, still stupefied. Aragorn marveled inwardly at Boromir's strength for a minute, and then ran to catch up.  
  
The dark depths of Fangorn loomed like a promise of death, moss swinging from branches like a noose, the air still and stretched calm throughout. Gimli put a finger to a stain on a leaf, tasting the blackish substance, and promptly spitting it back out.  
  
"Orc blood."  
  
Aragorn looked at the impressions in the ground. Something very big had walked here.  
  
"These are strange tracks."  
  
Boromir was still marvelling.  
  
"The air is so close in here. This forest is old, very old. " What seemed to be a groan reverberated through the forest, and Gimli raised his axe, wary should anything try to attack.  
  
"Gimli!" Aragorn whispered to the dwarf, signalling with his hand to lower the weapon.  
  
"Huh?"  
  
"Lower your axe." The dwarf realized what the trees had seen as a threat, and lowered the weapon.  
  
"Oh." Boromir's well-trained warrior eyes narrowed, and he beckoned Aragorn closer.  
  
"Something is out there." Aragorn looked at him, bewildered, and out of the corner of his eye, saw a white flicker of a cloak.  
  
"What do you see?"  
  
"The White Wizard approaches."  
  
"Do not let him speak. He will put a spell on us." Aragorn's grip on his sword tightened, as did Boromir's, and Gimli held his axe tighter. "We must be quick." With a dart of his eyes, Aragorn swung around, a wild yell escaping his mouth, the others doing likewise.  
  
They were met with a bright light, shining straight in their eyes, blinding them. Aragorn and Boromir dropped their swords, where they lay, still smoking from the heat of the wizard's spell, in the half decaying leaves. Gimli's axe, which he had thrown, also lay at the wizard's feet. When he spoke, his voice was distant, cold, and imperious.  
  
"You are tracking the footsteps of two young hobbits."  
  
"Where are they?" Aragorn was worried, for after Éomer's warning, things would be dire for their friends if this wizard were who they thought he was.  
  
"They passed this way the day before yesterday. They met someone they did not expect. Does that comfort you?" It did not.  
  
"Who are you? Show yourself!" The light dimmed, and from it stepped forth Gandalf, clad in white, a polished ivory staff in his aged fingers. Boromir and Gimli kissed their faces to the ground, but Aragorn still stood, amazed, and confused. When at last someone spoke, the Dunadan was clearly more confused than he let on.  
  
"It cannot be. You fell." The Gandalf smiled.  
  
"Through fire and water. From the lowest dungeon to the highest peak, I fought with the Balrog of Morgoth. Until at last, I threw down my enemy and smote his ruin upon the mountainside. Darkness took me. And I strayed out of thought and time. Stars wheeled overhead and everyday was as long as a life-age of the earth. But it was not the end. I felt life in me again. I've been sent back until my task is done." Aragorn marvelled, and finally, smiled.  
  
"Gandalf!" The being was confused.  
  
"Gandalf? Yes... That's what they used to call me. Gandalf the Grey. That was my name." He smiled at the thought. Gimli's voice was most beatific.  
  
"Gandalf!" Gandalf's eyes twinkled with the merriment they had always had when good food and good company, not to mention good pipeweed, were to be had.  
  
"I am Gandalf the White. And I come back to you now at the turn of the tide." He looked about, and his eyes fell on Boromir, who bowed his head. " So she is gone?" Aragorn nodded sadly. Gandalf thought about this, and smiled slightly. "The path is changed for this...but for good or for evil, my heart cannot tell."  
  
As the foursome walked through the forest, Gandalf began to speak, his voice a bit sharper than it had been, a little bit more edged.  
  
"One stage of your journey is over, another begins. War has come to Rohan. We must ride to Edoras with all speed." They had reached the edge of the forest, and Gandalf whistled piercingly, the sound echoing in the vale. Over the hills came a spark of white mane, tossing in the wind. Boromir looked on in fascination, his eyes wide.  
  
"That is one of the Mearas, unless my eyes are cheated by some spell." The white creature came to a halt in front of Gandalf, his liquid eyes calm and understanding, as horses are wont to be. Gandalf stroked his nose affectionately.  
  
"Shadowfax. He's the lord of all horses and he's been my friend through many dangers. Come, my friends...the Golden Hall is but a little ways off. If we ride hard, we may yet be there by day's end."  
  
-*-*-*-  
  
Author's notes. In case you have not noticed yet, I reposted this to appease the gods (and my tetchy reviewers.... I still love you all though!)  
  
-evil overlord- to speak candidly and with my anger and wish to pummel you in check, please stay away from the rest of my work, ye of little imagination and large mental confine. And how do you know he has no sister? Tolkien gives him A VERY VERY VERY SMALL PART, so small, in fact, that Legolas is one character I have no qualms about giving siblings, as the only family of his ever mentioned is his father, Thranduil. Thank you. * seethes, breathes in very deeply to calm herself before going on.*  
  
-LOTR nutcase- I STILL LOVE YOU!  
  
And from the depths of my heart, I apologize! I mean for this to follow the three hunters, and Rhos to follow Gondor...I am truly sorry! Really, I am! * Begs for forgiveness on bended knees* There will be more Faramir there soon, I assure you! And well...when I wrote this, I didn't feel that any of my own dialogue was needed...the next chapter has much more, I assure you.  
  
I was telling my buddy Katie about all your loverly reviews and how you are my absolute favourite online persona right now, and all she could say was "Aren't my pearl snap buttons just the bomb?" Sure, chuck my Pulitzer dreams out the window. And I had to include the book canon thing or else it wouldn't be fair to the man who wrote the books. (ALL HAIL TOLKIEN!) It was one of my moments of genius, I must say.  
  
-magicgirl810- after reading this, I think I answered you question. (And took your suggestion! Thanks muchly!)  
  
-mystery science seed 3000 – I was thinking of doing a repost with some new dialogue at the end of amon hen, but decided to stick said discussion somewhere else. I assure you, things will play out.  
  
-Ahthesigner- we talked in math. And it's all right...I just have this gift from god. And lots of time on my hands.  
  



	9. So she is dead: Part two

The horses had to be walked for a little time, and the sun was just brushing the grass when both Aragorn and Gandalf agreed to make camp. Boromir got off his horse rather heavily, and started to go out of the camp for firewood, but Gimli pushed him back to the ring of stones where Aragorn knelt hunched over a small pile of kindling saying that he should really get some rest-riding all day was hard business. Boromir sat down dejectedly by the steadily growing flames, looking at Aragorn.  
  
"Why is it you all treat me like I know not how to defend myself?"  
  
"You are still weak from the wound, my friend. It needs time to heal. Now sit, and warm yourself. Gabrielin did not let herself be forfeit so you could die of chill. If you want to be useful, gut this." The ranger handed off the rabbits, which Boromir looked at with displeasure and took knife to. Gandalf, who had until now been staring off into the distance at the tiny red flaring speck that was the Eye, came to sit next to the fire.  
  
"The veiling shadow that glowers in the east takes shape. Sauron will suffer no rival. From the summit of Barad-dûr, his Eye watches ceaselessly. But he is not so mighty yet that he is above fear. Doubt ever gnaws at him. The rumor has reached him. The heir of Númenor still lives." Boromir looked up from the rabbit to look at Aragorn, who was looking at the fire with a far off, forlorn look in his eyes.  
  
"Sauron fears you, Aragorn. He fears what you may become."  
  
Boromir nodded, understanding a little of what the wizard said. If the heir of Isildur could challenge Sauron, Mordor might be broken! What a chance for Gondor...for Gondor... Gandalf's voice called him back down from dreamland as the wizard carried on.  
  
"And so he'll strike hard and fast at the world of Men. He will use his puppet, Saruman, to destroy Rohan. War is coming. Rohan must defend itself, and therein lies our first challenge for Rohan is weak and ready to fall. An old device of Saruman's enslaves the king's mind. His hold over King Théoden is now very strong. Sauron and Saruman are tightening the noose. But for all their cunning we have one advantage."  
  
Looked up from his bloodied hands with a quizzical look in his eyes, Boromir pondered-what possible advantage does one have against supreme evil and a wizard who has fallen from grace with the light? Gandalf answered his unasked question.  
  
"The Ring remains hidden. And that we should seek to destroy it has not yet entered their darkest dreams. And so the weapon of the enemy is moving towards Mordor in the hands of a Hobbit. Each day brings it closer to the fires of Mount Doom. We must trust now in Frodo. Everything depends upon speed and the secrecy of his quest."  
  
Aragorn, now sharpening the sticks for a spit on which to roast the rabbit, looked at Gandalf and Boromir, both across the fire from him. Boromir handed him the rabbit meat, which Aragorn skewered on the stick and laid on the flames.  
  
"Do not regret your decision to leave him. Frodo must finish this task alone." Boromir tried to offer what little wisdom he had for this time, but Aragorn paid it no heed. Gandalf looked troubled now.  
  
"Frodo went on alone?  
  
"Not alone. Sam went with him." The wizard seemed satisfied.  
  
"Did he indeed? Good Samwise. Yes, very good. I never thought he'd have it in him. Sam..." The wizard looked at the fire, chuckling at the thought that the gardener from the shire had enough courage to follow his friend to hell itself.  
  
-*-*-*-  
  
Early the next morning, the golden grass rippled with the rising tide of wind, brushing the ankles of the four riders on the ridge.  
  
"Edoras, and the Golden Hall of Meduseld. There dwells Théoden, King of Rohan, whose mind is overthrown. Saruman's hold over King Théoden is now very strong." The man in white's voice was grim. Be careful what you say. Do not look for welcome here. The loyalty to the king is the foundation of a building breaking. It is wise to tread upon such things with light feet." Gandalf spurred his horse over the ridge, towards the Golden Hall, Boromir, Aragorn, and Gimli following  
  
Just before the gates of the city, Boromir looked up to see a lady in white, blonde hair flying with the breeze, in front of the golden hall. As he watched, the flag nearest her ripped off it's pole and flapped to where it landed at his horse's feet. Frowning at it, he rode on.  
  
The capital of Rohan was still and sepulchral, the inhabitants watching with wary eyes as the wizard, dwarf, and men rode by. The entire city was as silent as the grave, clad in black as though in deep mourning.  
  
"You'll find more cheer in a graveyard." remarked Gimli morosely.  
  
The company climbed the stairs to the parapet where Boromir had seen the white lady, but she was nowhere to be found. A stern-faced guard met them at the door.  
  
"I cannot allow you before Théoden-King so armed, Gandalf Greyhame. By order of Gríma Wormtongue." he said, his voice curt. Gandalf nodded, and Boromir and Aragorn hesitantly unbuckled their sword belts, handing the weaponry to the guards. Gimli reluctantly gave them his axes, and Gandalf laid down Glamdring in the hands of the guards. The doorman looked at Gandalf, motioning to hand the stick over.  
  
"Your staff." Gandalf looked as if he had only just heard him.  
  
"Hmm?" He looked at his staff. "Oh. You would not part an old man from his walking stick?" The doorman frowned, but unbarred the doors for them, leading the foursome into the hall. Gandalf, as if he had aged a hundred years suddenly, took the arm Boromir offered him with a wink, leaning wizenedly.  
  
At the end of the grand chamber, two man sat, one immensely old, with white hair and wrinkled skin, and the other, pale and dark. The pale one whispered in the king's ear.  
  
"The courtesy of your hall is somewhat lessened of late, Théoden King." Gandalf's voice rang in the soundless hall, silent save for the footsteps of the guardsmen and themselves. The wizard continued to walk forward, while Boromir, Aragorn and Gimli held back, watching the hostile group of men following them, clearly not Rohirrim corps. The pale one whispered in the king's ear again. When the king did speak, his voice sounded rusty and unused.  
  
"Why should I... welcome you, Gandalf...Stormcrow?" The pale one, whose name could only be Grima Wormtongue, whispered in the king's ear, and stood.  
  
"A just question, my liege." He began to walk forward to meet Gandalf. "Late is the hour in which this conjurer chooses to appear. Lathspell spell I name him. Ill news is an ill guest." Gandalf's voice was stern and abrupt.  
  
"Be silent! Keep your forked tongue behind you teeth. I have not passed through fire and death to bandy crooked words with a witless worm!" He raised his staff, which had been hidden by his robes, and pointed it at Grima. The counsellor looked at it with a fearful look.  
  
"His staff!" He began to back away, talking to the guards as he went. "I told you to take the wizard's staff!" The men in the shadows pounced, and soon the room behind Gandalf erupted into a fistfight. One of the Rohirrim was held back by his commander as Gandalf continued to approach the king.  
  
"Théoden, son of Thengel, too long have you sat in the shadows." Boromir caught the traitorous counsellor trying to sneak away, and pinned him to the ground with a boot.  
  
"I would stay still, if I were you, or you will be dead carrion by this time tomorrow."  
  
"Hearken to me! I release you from the spell." Gandalf's eyes were closed in concentration, but they flew open as the old man in the throne began to laugh manically.  
  
"You have no power here, Gandalf the Grey!" at this, Gandalf threw his grey cloak back, the light blinding the hall and forcing the king back in his carven seat with a yell. The wizard pointed his staff at the king.  
  
"I will draw you, Saruman, as poison is drawn from a wound." The woman in white rushed in, anxious to see what the noise was, and tried to run to the king. Aragorn held out an arm to stop her.  
  
"Wait."  
  
"If I go. . .Théoden dies." Saruman's voice came disembodied from the mouth of Théoden, and he was thrown against the chair back with a flick of Gandalf's staff, gasping.  
  
"You did not kill me, you will not kill him!" Again, the aged man spoke using the former white wizard's voice.  
  
"Rohan is mine!"  
  
"Be gone!!" The lined king was thrown back in his chair, and with a moan, began to collapse forward. Aragorn let the young woman go, and she ran to his aid before he hit the ground. Gradually, the lines on his face faded, revelling a much younger Théoden. His eyes, once cloudy, returned to their lively blue, and he looked into the young woman's eyes, trying to remember.  
  
"I know your face. Éowyn... Éowyn." The king's niece, his sister daughter; the young woman wept with joy. Unsteadily, she helped Théoden stand, the older man testing his legs. He looked at the White Wizard with uncertainty.  
  
"Gandalf?" The wizard smiled.  
  
"Breathe the free air again, my friend." Théoden looked around.  
  
"Dark have been my dreams of late."  
  
"Your fingers would remember their old strength better... if they grasped your sword." The door guard ran up with the sword in its sheath, and with trembling hands, the king unsheathed it. Grima trembled as the king's gaze fell on him, and Boromir, along with one of the Rohirrim, threw him bodily from the hall, falling down the steps with a groan of pain. The traitor called beseechingly to Théoden.  
  
"I've only ever served you, my lord!"  
  
"Your leech craft would have had me crawling on all fours like a beast!" The worm continued to grovel.  
  
"Send me not from your side." Théoden raised his sword to strike, the peasantry looking on as the king was to deliver his justice, but Aragorn stayed his hand.  
  
"No, my lord! No, my lord. Let him go. Enough blood has been spilled on his account." The worm scrambled to his feet, and pushed his way through the crowd.  
  
"Get out of my way!"  
  
The doorkeeper cried "Hail, Théoden king!" and the whole assembly knelt. Théoden looked at the faces waiting for him on the parapet, his face perplexed.  
  
"Where is Théodred? Where is my son?" Aragorn looked at Boromir again, who was begging to tip again, his face still ashy pale, and ran to steady his friend as the rest of the nobles of Rohan processed solemnly back inside. The Gondorian clutched his chest. Aragorn looked from Gandalf to Boromir's chalky face.  
  
"It is the poison; it attacks again." Gandalf's worried lines creased more.  
  
"Get him inside! Get him in! Make way!"  
  
Once inside the healer's chambers, Aragorn made to take the younger man's coat off; he burned with fever from the very fires of Orodruin itself. Boromir offered no resistance, simply staring up at the ceiling as the older wrapped the covers around him.  
  
"It is over." Boromir laid a hand on Aragorn's arm as he washed the soldier's forehead with water. Aragorn looked Boromir in the eye. The man of the south seemed to have lost hope.  
  
"The world of men will fall, and all will come to darkness... and my city to ruin." Aragorn grasped Boromir's shoulder.  
  
"I do not know what strength is in my blood, but I swear to you I will not let the White City fall...nor our people fail!"  
  
"Our people? Our people." He grasped Aragorn's hand for dear life as Gandalf came in, followed by healers bearing a bowl of water, cloths, and sachets of herbs.  
  
"I would have followed you my Brother...my Captain...My King!" The warrior who believed himself so near death closed his eyes, succumbing to the sweet call of sleep.  
  
"Be at peace, son of Gondor." He turned to the healers.  
  
"Treat him as if he were the son of a king- he is of a nobility oft forgot." The head healer looked at the sleeping captain.  
  
"The son of the steward is well respected in these halls, Aragorn of the North. Take some rest yourself." She gently pushed him out to the hall, closing the door silently behind her.  
  
Several hours later, Aragorn looked in on his sleeping friend. The healer who had herded him out looked up from sponging his brow to speak with the warden of the wilds.  
  
"The steward's son has great strength. And the wizard, extraordinary skill. There were still some shards of arrow in the wound. Now that they are dislodged, he should be better soon. That was strong venom on that tip. How long ago did you say you removed the shaft, ranger?" Aragorn thought.  
  
"Seven days past." The healer gaped.  
  
"There was poison strong enough on that bolt to kill a cave troll. Your friend will live, but he shall have some strange dreams to tell of when he wakes. You will keep his watch?" Aragorn nodded, and took the cloth from her hands. The healer turned to leave, and stopped.  
  
"Does the son of the steward have a lady friend?" Aragorn nodded stiltedly.  
  
"His fiancé. Rhoswen." The healer nodded.  
  
"He cried out her name in his fever...I thought it wise to tell you." She left, and Aragorn looked to his friend. When the healer had gone, Boromir cautiously opened one eye.  
  
"Is she gone?" Aragorn nodded.  
  
"You feigned sleep?" The Gondorian shook his head in affirmation sheepishly.  
  
"I am not accustomed to being cosseted by women healers. In Gondor, when wounded, I stayed at the battle field and put my trust in the soldiers in my command who had some herb lore." Aragorn thought about this, and looked the younger man over. His brow was creased, trying to remember something.  
  
"You seem troubled, friend. What ails your mind?"  
  
"While I slept, I saw my father, crying, the great horn cloven in two upon his knees; and Rhoswen, weeping over my body...I was dead. And I saw a child...a baby in a cradle in Rhoswen's room...my child. I saw my father burning...and Faramir dying... I saw the White City, but...it was broken, and there were bodies...bodies on the Pelennor, smoke rising from the city. Aragorn, what was it that I saw?" the ranger smiled seriously.  
  
"You saw the other path...the path that would have been if Gabrielin had not come. She told me of what she saw...and found that she thought your life was better lived then hers. She wanted you to have this. To remember her by." He drew her medallion from his pocket, and pressed it into the bedridden man's hands. Boromir was close to tears.  
  
"That was her 'golden path' then?"  
  
"Yes. Rest now, and eat something."  
  
"How can I rest when I am only now reminded of the death I helped to make? I was the cause of her departure, the cause of her suffering. How can a man come to grief with a woman's death, a woman who died for him?"  
  
"It was a choice she made, Boromir. Neither her brother nor me could stop her. It was not your frailty that she saw- indeed, she saw naught but strength- but your heart that she found most worth saving." Boromir was taken aback. "Love is a golden thing abused by those who do not know it's worth. And she thought 'twas better to have one live with love than one without. Now get some sleep." Aragorn made to leave, but Boromir held him feebly back.  
  
"Please, Aragorn...I realize that when...when we first met, I was proud and did not think of any other path save for the one under my feet. But with a chance, could you find it in your heart to count me as a friend?" Aragorn smiled broadly.  
  
"Boromir, you have made yourself a friend a hundred times over, and a hundred times again. And if a man's death wish is to be regarded in the highest of honours, then whether he lives or dies, his wish shall be held steadfast." Boromir smiled weakly, lay back down, and closed his eyes, and Aragorn left, wondering why it was that the steward's son tormented himself so.  
  
Later, in the golden hall, Boromir and Gimli sat, the former sipping soup while the latter munched bread. Aragorn was smoking, and Gandalf was nowhere to be seen. The doors to the hall burst open, and two of the Rohirrim guards entered, Gandalf and Théoden behind them. The guards were carrying two small children.  
  
After they two children had been fed, they told their tale. They were from the Westfold, the wildmen had attacked their village, and would the nice lady (that was Éowyn) know where mamma was? After gently interrogating them, Éowyn looked at her uncle.  
  
"They had no warning. They were unarmed. Now the wildmen are moving through the Westfold, burning as they go. Rick, cot and tree."  
  
"Where's Mama?" the little girl asked. Éowyn shushed her. Gandalf turned to Théoden, his voice grim.  
  
"This is but a taste of the terror that Saruman will unleash. All the more potent for he is driven now by fear of Sauron. Ride out and meet him head on. Draw him away from your women and children." He leaned forward to rest a hand on Théoden's chair. The king of the Riddermark looked at it uneasily. "You must fight." Aragorn took the pipe out of his mouth to speak.  
  
"You have two thousand good men riding north as we speak. Éomer is loyal to you. His men will return and fight for their king." Théoden got up, and began to pace.  
  
"They will be three hundred leagues from here by now. Éomer cannot help us. I know what it is that you want of me. But I will not bring further death to my people. I will not risk open war." Boromir normally would have had some exchange in the verbal sparring, but he meekly continued to slurp down soup, watching Théoden and Aragorn argue.  
  
"Open war is upon you. Whether you would risk it or not."  
  
"When last I looked, Théoden, not Aragorn, was king of Rohan." Gimli burped, and Boromir nudged him.  
  
"Mind your manners. There are lady folk about." Boromir chided his friend.  
  
"Then what is the king's decision?" Gandalf looked at Théoden, still pacing the grand chamber.  
  
Later that day, Hama could be heard outside telling the people of the king's choice.  
  
"By order of the king, the city must empty. We make for the refuge of Helm's Deep. Do not burden yourselves with treasures. Take only what provisions you need." The foursome made their way to the stables. Gimli was complaining, per usual.  
  
"Helm's Deep! They flee to the mountains when they should stand and fight. Who will defend them if not their king?" Boromir looked at his small friend.  
  
"He's only doing what he thinks is best for his people. Helm's Deep has saved them in the past." Gimli harrumphed as they entered the stables. In the farthest stall, Gandalf was conferencing with Aragorn.  
  
"There is no way out of that ravine. Théoden is walking into a trap. He thinks he's leading them to safety. What they will get is a massacre. Théoden has a strong will but I fear for him. I fear for the survival of Rohan. He will need you before the end, Aragorn. The people of Rohan will need you. The defences HAVE to hold." Aragorn nodded, confident.  
  
"They will hold." The wizard looked at Shadowfax, murmuring softly to the horse. He mounted up, and turned back to Aragorn.  
  
"With luck, my search will not be in vain. Look to my coming at first light on the fifth day. At dawn, look to the East." The ranger opened the stall gates, letting horse and rider through the stable. Gimli and Boromir had to jump back to avoid being trampled by the horse. Boromir looked at Aragorn, still gazing out at the white blot on the yellowing fields.  
  
"We should prepare to leave. Come, brother. There is much to do."  
  
Back in the golden hall, Boromir was lifting tables with the rest of the household staff, packing away furniture, when he turned to see Éowyn, sword in hand, go through the first three positions of a practice run with the sword. She turned, and met Aragorn's blade. They parleyed for a minute, after which both weapons were sheathed. But Boromir could see something in the lady's eyes...some spark of revolution hidden beneath a visage of demure womanhood.  
  
Gimli was chatting pleasantly with Éowyn as the dwarf rode, the shield maid holding the reins. From behind them, Boromir and Aragorn rode in silence, both stoics for the lighthearted conversation in front of them.  
  
"It's true you don't see many Dwarf women. And in fact, they are so alike in voice and appearance, that they're often mistaken for Dwarf men." The blonde haired woman smiled, and turned to glance at Aragorn.  
  
"It's the beards..." The young woman held in a giggle at Aragorn's comment. The dwarf continued.  
  
"And this, in turn, has given rise to the belief that there are no Dwarf women. And that dwarves just spring out of holes in the ground!" Éowyn laughed animatedly, which left Gimli looking pleased.  
  
"Which is of course ridiculous... Whoa!!" The horse he was riding started, and Éowyn lost her control of the reins, causing Gimli to gallop a short distance before falling off. The shield maid rushed to help the fallen dwarf, who struggled to get up  
  
"It's alright, it's alright. Nobody panic. That was deliberate. It was deliberate." The laughing woman helped the stern dwarf up, her smiling face looking back at the two men, framed with sunshine and golden curls, the perfect picture of happiness. Boromir moved closer to his friend.  
  
"She reminds me of Rhoswen, a little...her smile, at least. And every time she looks at you, I see you cannot help but smile. I never met your elven princess, Aragorn, but she must be like yonder king's sister daughter." Aragorn frowned.  
  
"No...the two are as unlike as the sea and the sand, one raven and the other gold, one the evening and the other the day. And I would not forfeit the love of the moon for the kiss of the Sun." the ranger said cryptically. Boromir smiled.  
  
"It is obvious that Éowyn loves you...but whether as the commander her warrior's heart sees, or the handsome man who rides with her uncle, I could not tell. You do not speak often of your princess, do you? Tell me of her." Aragorn smiled sadly. Boromir pressed on; he knew Aragorn was loath to speak of the woman whose pendant he wore 'round his neck, and whose heart he wore on his sleeve. "At least her name."  
  
"Arwen Undómiel...the daughter of Elrond." Boromir's brow rose, but his questions remained silent.  
  
The next day, the sun had not fully risen when Aragorn and Éowyn found themselves walking along side each other in contented silence.  
  
"Where is she? The woman who gave you that jewel." Aragorn smiled, reminiscing. He stayed silence, his lips set in a firm line.  
  
"My lord?"  
  
"She is sailing to the Undying Lands, with all that is left of her kin." Boromir watched the expression on the young woman's face change from query to quandary. He could tell just from that disappointed flicker that Éowyn had desired a union with the next king of Gondor, but could see by her face that she knew her beauty was no match for elven kind. Hama and the king's guard Gamling rode by, faces grave. He handed his mount off to Aragorn, a hand on the hilts of his sword; Aragorn gave him a strange look.  
  
"What is it?"  
  
"Something fell is on the air-a foul stench is not good reckoning for tidings. I am going to see the front." Jogging over the ridge, he saw the horses began to get nervous, stamping their feet as they sensed danger. Just then, a wolf standing nearly five feet tall jumped from the rocky outcrop above, slaughtering Hama and knocking his horse to the ground. Gamling shouted  
  
"Wargs!" As the door warden unsheathed his sword, and the creature turned on him. Boromir ran up, catching the rider with his sword, and lopping off the festering creature's head. Both men ran their swords through the wolf as it reared; the burden on it's back gone. Boromir looked it over, shoving the carcass off him.  
  
"A scout!" Théoden rode up to Aragorn.  
  
"What is it? What do you see?"  
  
"Wargs! We are under attack!" This made for widespread alarm among the villagers, who began to panic and scream. Aragorn mounted up on his horse, shouting over the frenzied din  
  
"Get them out of here!" Théoden shouted commands to his riders.  
  
"All riders to the head of the column!" The dwarf tried unsuccessfully to get himself up onto his mount.  
  
"Come on, get me up here, I'm a rider! Argh!" With some help, he finally mounted, and them, with some stuttering, got Arod to move forward. Behind him, Théoden was having a hurried and harrowed conference with Éowyn. Reluctantly, she turned and began sheparding frightened villages in the general direction of the fortress, taking command of the confused line. The king shouted to the riders, spurring on his horse Snowmane.  
  
"Follow me! Yah!" Éowyn was heard to be shouting,  
  
"Make for the lower ground! Stick together!" she looked back, and caught Aragorn's glance for a moment, then turned her eyes to Boromir, who had run back to mount his horse. Neither men smiled, their mouths set in firm lines. Hasufel and Brego were spurred to catch up with Théoden, sword unsheathed, shouting the charge.  
  
The fury of battle was upon the company; orcs were felled like trees for firewood. Gimli had fallen off his horse, and was staring down a rider less warg, the two circling. Just as the warg lunged, it fell short of Gimli; a spear embedded in it's back. Gimli looked from the carcass to see a grinning Boromir.  
  
"Argh! That one counts as mine!" The man of the South shrugged, and turned to lop off another head. Gimli looked around, turning just before another lunged, pinning him to the ground, his axe embedding itself in its heart. The fallen rider looked over the top of the smelly animal mass, and the dwarf, giving up all hope of disengaging his axe, swiftly twisted it's neck. As he was lifting the rotting creatures off him, yet another came to sniff dead flesh, but was promptly killed with a stroke of a sword from Aragorn.  
  
As Aragorn watched Gimli try to disentangle himself from the growing pile of corpses, one warg rider came up, grappling with the Dunadan and tossing the man from his horse. Aragorn held on for dear life as he killed the orc, but found himself stuck to the harness on the stinking creature's body. Then the earth fell away, and his mind went blank.  
  
Boromir looked around for Aragorn, and seeing Gimli still stuck, shoved the carcasses off him.  
  
"Aragorn?" There was Brego, seemingly dead, and Théoden, looking around at the bloodied faces of riders and orcs alike. The Gondorian peered over the cliff, seeing the splattered body of a warg, and the rushing currents of a small river. There was a wheezy laugh form behind him, and it was all he could do to keep from killing the poor creature. Gimli stood over the orc, his axe to the creature's throat.  
  
"Tell me what happened and I will ease your passing."  
  
"He's dead. Took a little tumble off the cliff." The man of the south looked warily at the cliff edge, and pulled the orc closer, his voice a snarl.  
  
"You lie!" The orc chortled, and died. Boromir let go, and at a glimmer, looked in the orc's slimy hand. Nestled in it was the Evenstar. He looked at it, and then walked back to the edge of the cliff, and the body below, willing himself not to cry. Théoden was talking to his men, his voice strained.  
  
"Get the wounded on horses. The wolves of Isengard will return. Leave the dead." He laid a hand on Boromir's shoulder, and the taller man looked at him, his face as if he were about to cry. "Come. Mourn not overmuch-he died with honour." He left Boromir and Gimli to stare- half-heartedly hoping Aragorn was not dead- at the river.  
  
It was a much bloodied and disheartened company of Rohirrim that found Helm's Deep, Gamling calling ahead as he rode-  
  
"Make way for Théoden! Make way for the king!" Éowyn rushed up, and her face fell as she looked at the half dead and the missing.  
  
"So few. So few of you have returned." Théoden looked at his niece. His face was set.  
  
"Our people are safe. We have paid for it with many lives." Gimli approached Éowyn hesitantly, Boromir coming up behind him as he handed the reins of Hasufel to one of the stablemen.  
  
"My lady..." Éowyn looked around, dreading his news.  
  
"Lord Aragorn, where is he?"  
  
"He fell..." Éowyn looked at her uncle, but all he could do was turn away, withholding tears. The young woman pursed her lips, tears welling in her eyes. Boromir laid a comforting hand on her back, and she pulled closer, crying. It was all the captain could do to keep from crying as well.  
  
"He died as he lived-bravely, in battle, and with honour. He would have no undue sorrow at his passing. Come, Éowyn, you must be strong." The younger woman dried her eyes on a sleeve, and sniffled, shuffling off to the keep. Boromir looked after her, wondering what Rhoswen was thinking now.  
  
When the sun had risen higher, and the newly arrived troops were stabled and bunked, Théoden commanded soldiers from the battlements.  
  
"Draw all our forces behind the wall. Bar the gate, and set a watch on the surround." His lieutenant Gamling hurried behind him as the king paced the upper wall.  
  
"But what of those who cannot fight, my lord? The women and children?"  
  
"Get them into the caves. Saruman's arm would have grown long indeed if he thinks he can reach us here." The gates creaked open, and a bloodied Aragorn rode in, to the amazement of many. Gimli pushed his way from the ramparts to the yard by the doors.  
  
"Where is he? Where is he? Get out of the way. I'm gonna kill him! You are the luckiest, the canniest and the most reckless man I ever knew! Bless you, laddie!" Aragorn smiled in a worn, tired way. He needed rest, and food, but that was the least in his mind now.  
  
"Gimli, where is the king?" the dwarf nodded to the inner hall, and the tired, wet ranger began to climb steps at a brisk pace. Before the doors, he met Boromir, who had just come out.  
  
"You're late. We thought you got lost, but...when is a Ranger ever lost?" Aragorn smiled at his friend's joke, but Boromir was peering at the Ranger' arm, which was bleeding. "You look terrible." The captain heir opened Aragorn's hand, and closed it around the Evenstar, the Dunadan smiling in relief as he clapped Boromir on the shoulder.  
  
"Thank you, brother." Boromir nodded discreetly to the side, where Éowyn was standing, looking at him with sheer joy.  
  
Théoden's expression could be expressed as nothing more than amazement as a wet, dripping, and ensanguined Aragorn thrust open the double doors. When Aragorn's wound had been bound, Gimli and Boromir were called in for conference.  
  
"A great host, you say?" the ranger nodded.  
  
"All Isengard is emptied."  
  
"How many?"  
  
"Ten thousand strong at least."  
  
"Ten thousand?!" The king's voice was unbelieving that such a force even existed. Aragorn went on with his grim tale.  
  
"It is an army bred for a single purpose: to destroy the world of men. They will be here by nightfall." Théoden walked towards the doors, confident and resolute.  
  
"Let them come!" Théoden strode purposefully out the great doors to set his troops in position. "I want every man and strong lad able to bear arms to be ready for battle by nightfall." Gamling nodded and walked back to the armoury, where Théoden's generals waited. Théoden looked out from the causeway, the clear sky no indication there would be blood on the grass tonight.  
  
"We will cover the causeway and the gate from above. No army has ever breached the Deeping Wall or set foot inside the Hornburg."  
  
"This is no rabble of mindless Orcs. These are Uruk-hai. Their armour is thick and their shields broad." Gimli's rumbling baritone was reminding the king of what he probably already knew. Théoden turned shortly on the dwarf, annoyed.  
  
"I have fought many wars, Master Dwarf. I know how to defend my own keep." Boromir held the stoic dwarf back as the king went back up to the ramparts, watching for any sign of the advancing doom.  
  
"They will break upon this fortress like water on rock. Saruman's hordes will pillage and burn; we've seen it before. Crops can be re-sown; homes rebuilt. Within these walls, we will outlast them."  
  
"They do not come to destroy Rohan's crops or villages. They come to destroy its people. Down to the last child." Théoden drew Aragorn in, his voice dangerously low.  
  
"What would you have me do? Look at my men. Their courage hangs by a thread. If this is to be our end, then I would have them make such an end as to be worthy of remembrance."  
  
"Send out riders, my lord. You must call for aid."  
  
And who will come? Elves? Dwarves? We are not so lucky in our friends as you. The old alliances are dead.  
  
"Gondor will answer." Théoden looked at Boromir, who had heard nothing. He was staring off into the fields, his fingers gently touching the hilts of his sword.  
  
"Gondor? Where was Gondor when the Westfold fell? Where was Gondor when our enemies closed in around us? Where was Gon... – No, my lord Aragorn, we are alone." He walked away, still shouting orders. "Get the women and children into the caves." Gamling ran up behind him, jogging to keep up with the king. "We need more time to lay provisions for a siege, lord-" Théoden cut him off sharply. "There is no time. War is upon us!"  
  
In the armory, Aragorn looked around at the fear filled faces surrounding him-young lads and old men both. He examined one of the swords, and tossed it back on the waning piled disdainfully.  
  
"Farmer, farriers, stable boys. These are no soldiers." Boromir looked at him, a shard of hope in his eyes.  
  
"At least they fight for their own lands- does that not give men valour in such deeds as these? And there are better chances to win here than at Edoras, you must know that!"  
  
"That alone will not hold the defences through the night."  
  
"Have you so little faith in these men that you cannot trust them to the protection of all they hold dear?" The Gondorian captain's voice was little more than an anger-hardened hiss. Aragorn scowled and pulled away, his face cynical. The room fell silent as Boromir stalked off. Aragorn made to go after him, but Gimli held him back.  
  
"Let him go, lad. Let him be."  
  
Aragorn looked at the array of weaponry and armour before him, smiling sadly at the thought of all the young men out on the battlements who would never have a chance to grow old, raise a family. Knotting another tie on his jerkin, his hand reached out for his sword, and someone handed it to him. He looked up into Boromir's eyes.   
  
"We have trusted you this far. You have not led us astray. Forgive me. I was wrong to doubt what you would have as your opinion."  
  
"There is nothing to forgive, Boromir. Your point is a just and well thought one." The younger man smiled a little.  
  
"Now will you let me help you, as a dutiful brother should?"  
  
"If you must." Aragorn nodded, and the taller man pulled the embossed leather over his head, and knotted ties. As he was finishing, Gimli came up, struggling to get chain mail worked for a Rider over his head.  
  
"If we had more time I'd get this adjusted." The bundle constricting his chest dropped, hitting the floor with a resounding clank. "It's a little tight across the chest." Both men bit back smiles, when there came a strange, unearthly horn from the plains in front of them. Boromir cocked his ear at the sound.  
  
"That is no Orc horn." Aragorn and Boromir ran to the battlements as the gates were opened, and two hundred Galadhrim in midnight blue streamed in, the device of Lothlórien waving in the night breeze. Théoden was awestruck.  
  
"How is this possible?" Haldir, sternly serene, began his greetings.  
  
"I bring word from Elrond of Rivendell. An alliance once existed between Elves and men. Long ago we fought and died together." He looked up at the steps to see Aragorn and Boromir, and his eyes dimmed a little, but his smiled brightened. "We come to honour that allegiance." Aragorn bowed in front of the March warden, giving his welcome in Elvish, and them embracing the stern elf with sheer joy. Reluctantly, the elf hugged him back. Haldir turned from a broadly grinning Aragorn to Boromir, who felt himself shrinking under the cold, disdainful March warden's eye. The only thing he said to Boromir, as he embraced the captain quietly, in a soft, murderously cold voice,  
  
"So she is dead, then? Live out the night, man of the south, and I will consider your debt repaid." Boromir's face was set, eager for a challenge, as he looked the elf in the eye.  
  
"My sword shall sing with your bow." The elf turned back to Théoden.  
  
"We are proud to fight alongside men, once more."  
  
On the battlements, Aragorn stood amongst the elves on the Deeping wall, Boromir and Gimli beside him. The dwarf was mumbling complaints.  
  
"You could have picked a better spot." Boromir smirked. Gimli looked up at Aragorn. "Well lad, whatever luck you live by, let's hope it lasts the night." Thunder resounded in the ravine, and lightning flashed, showing the seething mass of Uruk-hai troops below. Boromir swallowed.  
  
"Your friends are with you, Aragorn." Gimli turned back to the wall.  
  
"Let's hope they last the night." Aragorn clasped Boromir's hand before leaving.  
  
"Brother." The captain heir looked him in the eyes, matching ferocity.  
  
"For Gondor; for the king."  
  
"How I wish it was not so." Aragorn smiled sadly, and strode off to the command of the elves, shouting in their foreign tongue. Outside the walls, the noise increased. Gimli struggled to see over the wall.  
  
"What's happening out there?" The taller grinned.  
  
"Shall I describe it to you? Or would you like me to find you a box?" The dwarf chuckled.  
  
The stamping and yelling from outside the walls intensified, and in the midst of it all, a single arrow was released, spinning and hitting its target with a clunk. Aragorn cried for the elves to hold. There was silence, then the soft clunk of a body hitting the ground dead, and a rumbling of some war machine newly constructed. Théoden looked out on the hordes.  
  
"So it begins." Aragorn was shouting commands, the elves drawing arrows, notching them, and preparing to fire with swift, fluid movements. Boromir wished Faramir was here to help; he could draw Gabrielin's bow and use it, but his brother was the better shot.  
  
"Leithio i philinn!" Aragorn cried, and a rain of shafts came down on the advancing enemy. Gimli was itching to kill.  
  
"Did they hit anything?"  
  
"Give them a volley." The command ran from Théoden's mouth through several junior officers, and Rohirrim arrows found heads, hearts and chests. But the lines never seemed to end. Gimli grew impatient.  
  
"Send them to me! C'mon!" Boromir looked in amazement at his small friend. If they only had ten such dwarves in Osgiliath, the city could never have fallen. Aragorn shouted something, and the elves drew out their long, scythe like swords. That could only mean one thing. Boromir peered over the battlement.  
  
"Ladders." was the only thing he could say. All Gimli could say was,  
  
"Good!" The Uruks climbed over the wall, and Gimli was in his element. "Boromir, two already!" Gimli held up two gloved fingers.  
  
"I'm on five!" The dwarf was outraged.  
  
"Argh! I'll have no filthy human outscoring me!" Boromir shoved one of the ladders off the wall. It fell right into the seething mass, squashing some. He looked at it for a minute, and then shouted.  
  
"Call it twenty!" Gimli was still hacking away.  
  
"Seventeen! Eighteen! Nineteen! Twenty! Twenty-one! Twenty-two! You're behind now, Boromir!" At a shout from Aragorn, arrows began to whistle towards the gates, where Boromir could see a turtle-like formation of Uruks trumping up the pathway. But there was something happening below, too. A path was being cleared, and an orc carrying a torch was running towards the wall. Haldir stepped in behind Boromir, arrows flying, trying to hit the runner. Boromir could hear Aragorn's furious screaming, and then there was an explosion to his left, and he watched as orcs, stone and Rohirrim alike flew in all directions at the blast; Saruman must have made an explosive. Orcs streamed through the broken wall, and at the causeway, the heavy plated shield drew back to reveal a battering ram. Boromir could hear a call from the rampart.  
  
"Brace the Gate! Hold them! Stand firm!" Aragorn stands directly in the path of the invading horde, and Boromir rushed down the stairs to meet them at the bottom, hacking wayward orcs as he went. Gimli jumped off the battlements, right into the fray, taking orcs down with him like a storm. Aragorn picked up the little warrior and ran back to the keep, hearing some obscure command from the ramparts, and shouting the retreat to Haldir and the other elves. The dwarf was still in the battle heat, protesting as Aragorn and Boromir hauled him away.  
  
"What are you doing? Argh! What are you stopping for?"  
  
But Haldir fell out of the corner of Boromir's eye, and he gave up Gimli and ran to help him. The elf was dead before Boromir could tell him that he was truly sorry. With a resolute face, he picked up the fallen elf's quiver, and unbuckled Gabrielin's bow from his back, heading up to Rohirrim at the ramparts, shooting as he went.  
  
"Brace the gate!" Gamling shouted as Aragorn and Gimli arrived on the scene. Théoden was backing up from the melee at the gate, clutching his shoulder.  
  
"Make way! We cannot hold much longer." Gamling looked at the king.  
  
"Hold them!" He was solid in his decision that they should not give up just yet. Aragorn shouted to him.  
  
"How long do you need?" Théoden looked at him as if he were mad.  
  
"As long as you can give me!" Aragorn grabbed Gimli's shoulder, and dragged him out a side door. Behind them, they could hear commands being shouted.  
  
"Timbers! Brace the Gate!" Aragorn and Gimli peered around the ledge.  
  
"Come on! We can take 'em!" Aragorn looked warily at the dwarf.  
  
"It's a long way."  
  
"Toss me." Aragorn gave him a funny look  
  
"What?"  
  
"I cannot jump the distance! You'll have to toss me!" he thought about this for a moment, and then said. "Oh! Don't tell the Gondorian." Aragorn smiled.  
  
"Not a word."  
  
On the other side of the fray, timbers were being brought to shore the door. As the last timber is about to be put in place, Théoden shouted through the door.  
  
"Gimli! Aragorn! Get out of there!" Boromir shouted from the rampart, throwing down a rope.  
  
"Aragorn!" The Dunadan grabbed the rope one handed and grabbed Gimli, still hacking away with no mercy to the last man. As he pulled them up, Boromir looked at the huge ladders being pulled into place. He pulled the duo the last remaining feet, and looked at Aragorn. The older man smiled.  
  
"Did I tell you yet you didn't have to stay? Gondor needs its captain heir." Boromir looked at Aragorn, and smiled wearily.  
  
"Rohan needs the captain heir more now; a symbol of the friendship between the two if he should die or live." Aragorn considered this while Boromir took another arrow, aimed, fired, and snapped one of the ropes hauling the ladder up, causing it to fall and squash another group of orcs.  
  
"Pull everybody back! Pull them back!" Boromir heard the withdraw being yelled from the ramparts.  
  
"Fall back! Fall back!"  
  
"They've broken through! The castle is breached. Retreat!"  
  
"Fall back!"  
  
"Retreat!"  
  
"Hurry! Inside! Get them inside!" Aragorn herded the remaining elves back, recalling the troops to the keep.  
  
"Into the Keep!" Boromir, running half backwards, fired behind him as he went and the doors of the keep closed behind him.  
  
Théoden watched his men shore up the doors with tables, looking hopeless.  
  
"The fortress is taken. It is over." Aragorn put the table he and Boromir were carrying at the doors, and looked at him.  
  
"You said this fortress would never fall while your men defend it! They still defend it! They have died defending it!" He looked at the king. "Is there no other way for the women and children to get out of the caves?" There was and uncomfortable silence. "Is there no other way?" Gamling spoke, wringing his gloved hands  
  
"There is one passage. It leads into the mountains. But they will not get far. The Uruk-hai are too many." Aragorn shoved this aside with the knowledge that at least some would survive what would become a blood bath.  
  
"Send word for the women and children to make for the mountain pass. And barricade the entrance." Théoden appeared to be in a trance.  
  
"So much death. What can men do against such reckless hate?" Aragorn looked at him.  
  
"Ride out with me. Ride out and meet them." The king's weary eyes shone with determination.  
  
"For death and glory?"  
  
"For Rohan. For your people." Boromir peered out the window, through which streamed the dawn's first light.  
  
"The sun is rising." Théoden got up, empowered with the idea.  
  
"Yes. Yes! The horn of Helm Hammerhand shall sound in the deep one last time!" Gimli ran to mount the stone steps to the great horn. Théoden turned to Aragorn. "Let this be the hour when we draw swords together. Fell deeds awake. Now for wrath! Now for ruin! And a red dawn!" Grimly, he put his helmet on, the joy of battle running clean in his veins again. As they mounted up, the horn rang with a bellow of war, and the gates crashed open with a great roar.  
  
"FORTH EORLINGAS!!" Théoden lead the charge out of the gates, through the Hornburg, slashing fiercely as he went. Without second thought or glace, they rode through the sea of orcs to the causeway below, pushing orcs this way and that as they rode. Beside him, Boromir saw Aragorn look to the east, a white light rising on the ridge. The Dunadan echoed what Boromir was thinking.  
  
"Gandalf." The wizard said something, and another rider came up behind him; and behind their captain, even more. The marshal raised a hand. "Rohirrim!! To the king!" Théoden looked up in amazement.  
  
"Éomer?" The riders and wizard charged down the slope, blinding the Uruks and rendering the ravine into a blood bath. Théoden, momentarily stunned, rode through the ranks, hacking, chopping and slicing as he went with vigour and hope renewed.  
  
Looking at the killing field later, littered with wood splinters, forgotten weapons, and the acrid stench of burning orc flesh, Gandalf spoke.  
  
"Sauron's wrath will be terrible, his retribution swift. The battle for Helm's Deep is over. The battle for Middle-earth is about to begin. All our hopes now lie with two little hobbits. Somewhere in the wilderness." Aragorn looked from Gandalf to Boromir, tousle haired and weary, watching the light play off the orc sword in his hands. The big man looked close to collapse.  
  
"Boromir, you should sleep. Go get some rest." Boromir shook his head.  
  
"I should help with the dead." He gestured with a sweep of his head to the crew of riders with shovels, burying the fallen. Aragorn sighed.  
  
"Boromir, as your friend, your brother, and least importantly, your king, I command you to get some sleep."  
  
"It shall be as my lord commands." Boromir's shoulders slumped with reluctantly shown fatigue, and he walked back to the castle, casting the sword aside as he went.  
  
Aragorn was sleeping soundly in the room where he and Boromir were bunking for the night when he heard a strangled yell.  
  
Boromir was sitting bare-chested and upright, sweat streaming down his tanned skin, gasping for breath.  
  
"Boromir, what is it? What ails your dreams of late?"  
  
"He saw me, Aragorn. He saw me, and spoke to me, and tempted me, and I refused him."  
  
"Calm down, brother, and tell me of your dream." Boromir took a steadying breath, and began.  
  
"I was walking in a desert...no, it could not have been a desert, for all was black and dying. It was swirling oblivion, a shadow realm, with fen and fell mists creeping about like souls ...seeking release ...in the deepest circles of hell. And then...I saw the Eye...more terrible than can be imagined. He said to me, You could be a king...I can give you rule over all lands...nations will bow at your feet, and people will worship your name. I told him that the king was coming, and I did not want lordships. He offered me the love of the most beautiful woman in the world, but I told him that I had what love I wanted, and that was enough...then he took me to Minas Tirith, and stood me on the rampart of the city, and said, if you would worship me, and you fell from this tower, I would save you. Would your friends be able to do that? I told him no, but if I fell, then my loss would be mourned, and that was enough for me. The eye, Aragorn, was displeased, but I was close to breaking...I am weak...."  
  
"Did he ask anything else of you?" Aragorn pressed on.  
  
"He showed me Rhoswen...and said that he would kill her if I did not submit...he filled my mind's eye with her corpse and her screams...but I couldn't give in. Rhos told me something...her voice was the only pure thing in my dream."  
  
"What did she say?"  
  
"Something she said before I left Osgiliath...I understand now why you have never loved before; to put a woman before your country could mean death for everyone. It is better that one die than have all perish, and I would rather die a tortured death than be the reason Gondor falls. So I said... 'This woman would die for Gondor; kill her, if that is your wish.' And he shrieked, and I woke...I cannot think he killed her, I cannot!" Boromir put his face in his hands, and Aragorn laid an arm around his shoulders.  
  
"It is good to know that your lady thinks as such. But Sauron is not called the lord of lies for nothing. All he offered you was air, and you passed his test- you are not as weak as he supposed when you succumbed to the ring's pull. My faith in you is none the worse, either. And for your nightmares you have shown that Gabrielin's sacrifice was none the misplaced."  
  
"But I feel as if I have failed... I feel weak, for letting it happen." Aragorn could not help but wonder whether it was Gabrielin's death to which he was referring, or his recently established communicance with the Nameless Bane of Men.  
  
"Sauron has dark devices in plenty, and the question of your strength is not an issue, as I have told you countless times for your melancholy. Now go back to sleep, and may you find better sailing in your dreams." Both men sunk into their beds, and closed their eyes, but what either dreamt stayed in their thoughts alone, for neither stirred after that.  
  
-*-*-*-*  
  
Ahh...Boromir shirtless...a very pleasing thought.  
  
Anyway...I think all thanks have been given and dully noted.  
  
In reviews (which I know you'll give me because you are nice people) I would like you to tell me specifically what it was you liked, if I can improve, how I can improve, and what I can improve on.  
  
Thank you for your continued cooperation and support. 


	10. And so the path ends

Disclaimer- I own zilch. Comprende?  
  
-*-*-*-  
  
Looking at the great wreck that once was Isengard, Boromir felt a deep hatred for the wizard that had lived here. Still the dregs of resentment for Gabrielin's death at the hands of the wizard's creation, as well as the abduction of two dear companions lingered in his heart. But the anger washed away as he spotted figures on the wall, two small boys. There was laughter from the pair, and Hasufel neighed, drawing the pair's attention. Merry stood, more than a little tipsy. He bowed flamboyantly, gesturing wide with his arms.  
  
"Welcome, my lords, to Isengard." He waved a hand in the direction of the darkened tower in the middle, a hate blackened spike. Gimli was affronted.  
  
"You young rascals! A merry hunt you've led us on, and now we find you feasting and, and smoking!" Pippin looked at him to correct him, swallowing the last of his mug.  
  
"We are sitting on a field of victory, enjoying a few well-earned comforts. The salted pork is particularly good." Gimli looked longingly at the young hobbit.  
  
"S-salted pork?" Gandalf frowned.  
  
"Hobbits." Merry looked at the assembled, a king, his marshal, two heirs, a wizard, and a dwarf.  
  
"We're under orders from Treebeard who has taken over management of Isengard." Boromir looked at him, half frowning, and half smiling. Gandalf questioned the young hobbit.  
  
"Where is Treebeard, Meriadoc?" The hobbit pointed to the moving object in the distance, coming towards them. Boromir pulled the hobbit off the wall.  
  
"Off you get, Merry."  
  
Aragorn pulled Pippin into the saddle, and the horses trotted their way through the half marshy land, a foot deep in the waters of the Isen. The tree Shepard greeted them.  
  
"Hm, young Master Gandalf, I'm glad you've come. Wood and water, stock and stone I can master. But there is a wizard to manage here -- locked in his tower."  
  
"There Saruman must remain, under your guard, Treebeard."  
  
"Well, let's just have his head and be done with it." Gimli interjected.  
  
"No, he has no more power anymore."  
  
"The filth of Saruman is washing away. Trees will come back to live here. Young trees, wild trees." Pippin looked at some flashing in the water, and jumped off Brego to investigate. Aragorn chided him.  
  
"Pippin!" The hobbit removed from the water a large glass ball, holding it up to the amazement of the company.  
  
"Bless my bark!" Treebeard looked at the ball with curiosity. Gandalf held a hand out for it, his voice sharp.  
  
"Peregrin Took, I'll take that, my lad. Quickly now." The hobbit handed the palantir to Gandalf, who wrapped it carefully in his cloak, as though loathe to touch it.  
  
-*-*-*-*-  
  
The great hall of Meduseld was filled with Rohirrim, Théoden standing at his throne, flanked by his niece and nephew.  
  
"Tonight we remember those who gave their blood to defend this country. Hail the victorious dead!" The crowd raised their cups in tribute, with a shout of 'Hail!' and drank. Beside him, Boromir saw Aragorn pause, deep in thought, and then raise the cup to his lips.  
  
Later in the evening, Boromir was sitting, mug in hand, watching with a lazy eye the goings in the hall. Éowyn approached Aragorn, bearing a carven, gilded cup. She held it out for him to drink, and he took it, looking into her eyes as he did so.  
  
"Westu Aragorn hál!" The traditional Rohirric blessing sounded too soft from her lips to be true Rohirric. Aragorn walked away, and Théoden came up to speak with his niece. Boromir turned away from their conversation to look at Merry and Pippin, who were dancing on a table and singing one of the many Shire drinking songs they were yet to hear this night.  
  
"You can search far and wide  
  
You can drink the whole world dry  
  
But you'll never find a beer so brown  
  
As the one they drink in my hometown  
  
You can keep your fancy ales  
  
You can drink them by the flagon  
  
But the only brew for the brave and true  
  
Comes from the Green Dragon!"  
  
Boromir smiled, and walked to the porch, looking to sky as if it held all his answers. Aragorn joined him.  
  
"The stars are veiled, else I would show you the constellations of my city, as my brother often did. But there is something stirring in the East, a sleepless malice. The eye of the enemy moves." Aragorn nodded, austerely serene. Boromir was awoken from what would have been the best silence he'd had in a while by the furious screaming of a hobbit. Rushing into the room where they were to be sleeping, the two were met with a strange sight.  
  
Between his hands, Pippin held the palantir, his face white as death.  
  
"Help! Gandalf! Someone help him!" Aragorn wrenched the palantir from Pippin's frozen hands and started to convulse himself. Boromir steadied his shoulders as the older man nearly fainted, eyes rolling in his head, and the palantir rolled away, seemingly harmless again. Gandalf awakened in the blink of an eye.  
  
"Fool of a Took!" He wrapped the palantir up again, and then turned to Pippin, still cold as ice. He knelt over the hobbit, and he awoke, sputtering.  
  
"Gandalf. Forgive me!"  
  
"Look at me. What did you see?"  
  
"Ah... a tree. There was a white tree, in a courtyard of stone. It was dead!" Aragorn saw comprehension, and then fear dawn in his companion's eyes; Boromir knew exactly of what Pippin spoke.  
  
"The city was burning." Boromir gasped.  
  
"Minas Tirith. Is that what you saw?" the Gondorian's voice was incredulous that any harm should come to his beloved city while he still drew breath.  
  
"I saw... I saw him! I could hear his voice in my head."  
  
"What did you tell him? Speak!"  
  
"He asked me my name. I didn't answer. He hurt me."  
  
"What did you tell him about Frodo and the Ring?" Pippin gave him a blank look.  
  
-*-*-*-*-  
  
Later in the hall, Gandalf paced. It was after breakfast, and Pippin was seated, disheartened, on a stool, slumped over, Merry at his shoulder. The wizard spoke as if the hobbit were not there.  
  
"There was no lie in Pippin's eyes. A fool, but an honest fool he remains. He told Sauron nothing of Frodo and the Ring. We've been strangely fortunate. Pippin saw in the palantir a glimpse of the enemy's plan. Sauron moves to strike the city of Minas Tirith. His defeat at Helm's Deep showed our enemy one thing. He knows the heir of Elendil has come forth. Men are not as weak as he supposed. There is courage still -- strength enough, perhaps to challenge him. Sauron fears this. He will not risk the peoples of middle earth uniting under one banner. He will raze Minas Tirith to the ground before he sees a king return to the throne of Men. If the beacons of Rohan are lit, Rohan must be ready for war."  
  
"Tell me, why should we ride to the aid of those who did not come to ours? What do we owe Gondor?" Théoden looked in Boromir's eyes, and the younger man stared back, a grim truth there hidden; Gondor was owed nothing of Rohan-what debt of gratitude had Rohan need to pay? Aragorn looked at the wizard, starting for the doors.  
  
"I will go."  
  
"No."  
  
"They must be warned. We cannot send Boromir-the façade of death hangs still in his father's mind." He paused, giving Boromir a sorry look. "Your supposed demise makes your father weak, and I know he will not see me as king." Boromir looked at his brother at arms, unyielding. When he spoke, his voice was cold, as thought the man to whom he refferec was no kinsman of his.  
  
"Then let he who swore to hold oath and office till the return of the king burn where hellfire is reserved for traitors." Gandalf pulled Aragorn aside, their faces close. The wizard looked back at the king of the Riddermark.  
  
"Understand this; Things are now in motion that cannot be undone. I ride for Minas Tirith. And I won't be going alone." He threw a meaningful look at Pippin, who quailed.  
  
-*-*-*-*-*-  
  
It was nearly a week after Gandalf had left that Aragorn ran into the hall, his face lit with some hidden light.  
  
"The beacons of Minas Tirith! The beacons are lit! Gondor calls for aid." Théoden looked up from the map he was looking at with his nephew. Éowyn came to stand by them. The king paused for a moment.  
  
"And Rohan will answer. Muster the Rohirrim!" At his call, one of the guards in the hall ran to the bell tower, and the clear notes of the brass bell rang across the valley.  
  
-*-*-*-*-*-  
  
Aragorn and Boromir were readying horses for the ride to Dunharrow, where the army would muster. Aragorn turned to see Éowyn determinedly knotting ties on her saddle.  
  
"You ride with us?"  
  
"Just to the encampment. It is tradition for the women of the court to farewell the men." Aragorn flipped up the saddle blanket, revealing a sword. Éowyn slighted his hand, and covered the weapon again.  
  
"The men have found their captain. They will follow you to battle, even to death. You have given them hope."  
  
The mass of riders rode forward, surging like the tide of war they rode on.  
  
-*-*-*-*-*-  
  
At Dunharrow that afternoon, Théoden walked through the ranks, calling to his captains.  
  
"Grimbold, how many?"  
  
"I bring five hundred from the Westfold, my Lord."  
  
"We have three hundred more from Fenmarch, Théoden King."  
  
"Where are the riders from Snowbourne?"  
  
"None have come, my Lord." Théoden nodded, and behind him, Boromir and Aragorn could just see the small slump in his proud shoulders.  
  
-*-*-*-*-*-  
  
In the camp at the rise of the mountain, he told them why.  
  
"Six thousand spears. Less than half of what I'd hoped."  
  
"Six thousand will not be enough to break the lines of Mordor."  
  
"More will come."  
  
"Every hour lost hastens Gondor's defeat. We have until dawn. Then we must ride." Boromir and Théoden both nodded, stern and stiff-backed. Outside the tents, Boromir looked around: there was a silence in the air of grim tidings. A horse neighed, and nearly broke free of its tether.  
  
"The horses are restless and the men are quiet. Why is it so, Éomer- Eomundson? There are not orcs in plenty about, and the battle is yet a few days off." Éomer looked at him.  
  
"They grow nervous near the shadow of the mountain." Gimli pointed with an axe to the narrow gorge through the heart of the mountain.  
  
"That road there, where does it lead?"  
  
"It is the road to the Dimholt, the door under the mountain. I know the tales as well as any man, but now is not the time for ...ghost stories." Éomer looked at the mountain again, his voice bordering on caution.  
  
"None who venture there ever return. That mountain is evil." Gimli started Aragorn from his thoughts, the Dunadan visibly shaken by the surprise.  
  
"Aragorn! Let's find some food."  
  
-*-*-*-*-*-  
  
The sun had quit her lofty fired chair, and the moon had risen to her majesty when Boromir, sitting in the light of a fire, sharpening his sword, heard a yell from the tent he was sharing with Aragorn. Boromir cleared all thoughts of murder from his head as the spooked captain walked behind the Rohirrim to the king's tent, where ten minutes before a cloaked figure in black had entered, leaving his white horse by the opening. Having no tether, the horse had stayed remarkably still.  
  
Boromir watched the shadows dance on the tent walls, and saw the ranger unsheathe the sword the man handed him. A few minutes went by, and then both emerged, Boromir catching a glimpse of the stranger's face; it was Lord Elrond. Aragorn sat down heavily by the fire.  
  
"How is it that we are brothers of fate and destiny, and yet you refuse to wield the weaponry like to the swords your men use-" Boromir stopped short as Aragorn showed him the sword.  
  
"N-N-Narsil reforged? Truly, I sit in the king's sight, then." Aragorn brushed the comment away.  
  
"It was over this sword that we first met, son of the south."  
  
"And it is with that sword that you will command victories, my king."  
  
"Boromir, I am not yet your king. For now, only a brother and a friend. I have had counsel to take another road-but this road is most certainly not golden." He looked at the mountain, foreboding and dark.  
  
"You cannot think to take the Dimholt." Boromir looked at his captain as if he had said he wanted to send Sauron flowers.  
  
"It is the path we must take. Already a path has been strayed with Gabrielin's death-we must not alter what can be any further. I ride in the morning. Get some rest." He retired to his tent, Boromir looking at the shadow of flames dance on his blade, and then following his superior to bed.  
  
-*-*-*-*-*-  
  
In the early hours of the day, Aragorn was talking to Éowyn. The younger woman turned away, nearly in tears, and Aragorn led his horse past Boromir and Gimli.  
  
"Where do you think you're going?"  
  
"Not this time. This time you will stay, Gimli. This is my road alone, and I alone must keep it." Boromir came up behind him, carrying a saddle.  
  
"Have you learned nothing of the stubbornness of dwarves?"  
  
"You might as well accept it. We're going with you, laddie." Aragorn frowned. Boromir laid a hand on his shoulder.  
  
"The first duty of the steward is to hold oath and office until the king shall return. Since I am not steward, and I have sworn no oath, I can promise you only my sword, my heart, and my brotherhood. Take them in their stead."  
  
Aragorn looked into his friend's eyes, and smiled. The three mounted up, and rode into the mountain, not looking back at the cries from the riders.  
  
The path was desolate, barren of flowers or plant life beyond the weeds. Rocks and bleached bones littered the way.  
  
"What kind of an army would linger in such a place?" Gimli looked at the carrion crows circling overhead with an edge on his voice.  
  
"One that is cursed. The story is well known in Gondor and my brother knows the old tales well enough. Long ago the Men of the mountain swore an oath to the last King of Gondor, to come to his aid, to fight. But when the time came, when Gondor's need was dire, they fled, vanishing into the darkness of the mountain. And so Isildur cursed them, never to rest until they had fulfilled their oath." Boromir frowned at Gimli- he hated to tell such tales; they made his blood run cold. Gimli echoed his thoughts.  
  
"The very warmth of my blood seems stolen away." The three of them dismounted, and looked around at the door hewn in the rock.  
  
"I cannot read these runes, but my brother has told the tale oft enough- the way is shut. It was made by those who are dead, and the dead keep it. The way is shut." A ghostly breath blew from the doorway, whispering. The horses started at the sound, and bolted down the path back to Dunharrow. Aragorn shouted after them, his voice echoing, but they paid him no heed. He turned back to the door, decorated with skulls and bones, resolute.  
  
"I do not fear death." He took a deep breath, steeling his face, and walked into the tunnel. With a last glance, Boromir followed him. From behind, Gimli was heard to say,  
  
"Well this is a thing unheard of! When men will go underground when a dwarf dare not! Oh, Oh! I would not hear the end of it." Boromir could hear his short steps catching up, and would have let the dwarf run into him if Aragorn had not lit a torch, flooding the tunnel in light. Cautiously, the three made their way to the carven halls of the men of the Wold.  
  
The tunnel opened to the stone remains of what had once been a great city. A grim green phosphoresce clung to the walls, and slowly, the form of a man, wraithlike crown on his head, appeared before them. Aragorn was not fazed. The apparition spoke.  
  
"Who enters my domain?"  
  
"One who will have your allegiance."  
  
"The dead do not suffer the living to pass."  
  
"You will suffer me." The king laughed, and as the chilling sound escaped his mouth, a floodtide of Dead streamed from the walls, a ghost city unfolding before their eyes.  
  
"The way is shut. It was made by those who are dead, and the dead keep it." The dead began to appear faster, surrounding the trio. How does one kill something that is already dead? "The way is shut. Now you must die." Boromir sliced through the king's tattered cloak, a stroke that would have taken his arm off. But the rent quickly closed. Aragorn continued.  
  
"I summon you to fulfill your oath."  
  
"None but the king of Gondor may command me." He unsheathed a sword, glowing green like the rest of his dead domain. Aragorn laid forth Anduril, the flame of the west, Narsil reforged; and parried the dead king's blow. The Dead one was surprised, and fearful.  
  
"That blade was broken!"  
  
"It has been remade. Fight for us, and regain your honor. What say you?" he walked to face the soldiers; they drew back.  
  
"What say you?"  
  
"You waste your time Aragorn. They have no honor in life, they have none now in death." Gimli said sagely. Aragorn continued, showing the blade to the crowds.  
  
"I am Isildur's heir. Fight for me, and I will hold your oaths fulfilled." There was an eerie pause. "What say you?"  
  
-*-*-*-*-*-  
  
Aragorn piloted the ship down the river, the king at his back, creating a chill presence. Arriving at the dockside, he heard a knurly voice- an orc.  
  
"Late as usual! Pirate scum! There's knife work here that needs doing! Come on, you sea-rats. Get off your ships!" Aragorn jumped over the side, followed by Gimli and Boromir. The orcs looked at them, unimpressed. Gimli looked at Boromir.  
  
"There are plenty for the both of us. May the best dwarf win." Boromir looked at the dwarf.  
  
"I am not a dwarf, but I intend to, thank you." Aragorn ran forward, sword held high, and behind him, the dead streamed in vaporous waves.  
  
-*-*-*-*-*-  
  
They had been fighting for nigh on an hour when Boromir remembered something. He gestured to Aragorn.  
  
"Aragorn, this way." The Dunadan hacked another orc, and followed. Boromir nimbly climbed a rock outcrop, stopping at a door in the wall of the city. Opening it, he climbed inside. Aragorn followed, more than a little confused.  
  
The door opened on a garden, silent and deserted. Boromir held a finger to his lips, and the two crept through the upper levels of the city. At the gates, Boromir pressed his ear to the wall, and pulled them back into the shadows of the alleyway to the seventh level. The gates opened, and Denethor stalked past, a litter behind him, upon which the unconscious form of Faramir rested. The Steward was muttering to himself. Quietly, the pair followed the morose train down to Rath Dinen, the Silent Street, the mausoleum of the Stewards. Another way kept and made by the dead.  
  
"There is another door to the Rath Dinen. Come." The two stalked off like truant schoolboys stealing apples.  
  
The silent street was musty, the smell of the dead and decay saturating everywhere. The two watched from the shadows of the crypt as preparations were made for...something.  
  
"No tomb for Denethor and Faramir; No long slow sleep of death embalmed. We shall burn, like the heathen kings of old. Bring wood and oil!" Faramir's prone form groaned. Aragorn looked at Boromir, who was staring in horror.  
  
"When you said let him burn, did you mean in the literal sense of the word?"  
  
"Some device of the dark lord has poisoned his mind. Now I care not; Let him burn, for I know this man no longer." Faramir groaned again, and Denethor looked at his dying son.  
  
"The house of his spirit crumbles. Faramir is burning, already burning." A small boy rushed in, clad in the livery of the tower, and the voice that issued from his helmet was a familiar one.  
  
"He's not dead! He's not dead!" He made to disassemble the pyre, but Denethor dragged him away, still screaming.  
  
"No! No! No! No! He's not dead! No!" The small guard turned his face towards their corner in the desperate struggle, and the light fell on his face: it was Pippin.  
  
"Come now, Peregrin son of Paladin." Denethor spoke to the hobbit before casting him out the doors. "I release you from my service. Go now and die in what way seems best to you." He closed the doors on Pippin's pleas for sanity, and called to his servants.  
  
"Pour oil on the wood! Set a fire in our flesh." The guardsmen looked uncertainly at each other, pausing for a minute or two. Boromir made to rescue his brother, but Aragorn put a arm to stop him.  
  
"The path...must not be strayed. It is not written that we two should be here. We run rank risk to interfere." Boromir took a breath, vexed, but he made no further move, watching with desperation. Suddenly, Shadowfax broke through the door, Gandalf atop the rearing stallion.  
  
"Stay this madness!" He shouted at the steward. The guards drew back; fear of the wizard came before fear of a madman. Denethor grabbed a torch, and set aflame the pyre. Pippin, also astride the horse, jumped from Shadowfax's back onto the flames, pushing Faramir onto the floor with him as he jumped. Pippin knelt on the floor, patting out flames with gloved hands, trying to save the steward's son.  
  
"You will not take my son from me!" Denethor screamed at Pippin, attempting to get off the pyre. The horse knocked him back in the flames. As the fire licked around Denethor's oil drenched cloak, Aragorn and Boromir emerged from the shadows, and to the burning steward, it seemed as though two ghosts had emerged from nothingness. His eyes grew wide. He screamed, and jumped from the pyre, but tripped as he tried to run through the doors to the parapets, falling and yelling in pain. One of the servants patted the flames down, and Boromir, looking at the body of his father, could see that the elderly man had gone into a death-like sleep.  
  
"Does he still live?" the servant looked on at him in awe and dropped to one knee. Another put a hand to his lips, feeling for a faint breath.  
  
"Aye, my lord...my steward." Boromir turned away at the title.  
  
"If he still lives, than I am not yet fully come into my inheritance. Get my father and brother to the houses of healing; I will come and see to them when the time is fit. Now...now I must fight."  
  
"Boromir, the men will follow your command. To the gates!" The two men nodded, unsheathing swords as they ran off down to the gates. Gandalf and Pippin hurried off as well, leaving the oil soaked Faramir and Denethor in the care of the servants watching with a scared eye.  
  
-*-*-*-*-*-  
  
As the doors in front of them were pounded to bits, Pippin looked at his sword miserably.  
  
"I didn't think it would end this way." Gandalf looked at him.  
  
"End? The journey doesn't end here. Death is just another path, one we all must take. The gray rain-curtain of this world rolls back, and all turns to silver glass. And then you see it."  
  
"What? Gandalf? See what?"  
  
"White shores... and beyond, a far green country under a swift sunrise." Pippin thought about this.  
  
"Well, that isn't so bad."  
  
"No, no it isn't." Gandalf smiled a bit, weary and feeling as old as ever.  
  
"I guess that's why Gabrielin called it the golden path?" Gandalf looked at Pippin, bewildered.  
  
"How did you hear of that?"  
  
"Aragorn was speaking of it to Boromir; I listened where I should have not." Gandalf smiled benignly at the hobbit.  
  
"Yes...it was her golden path, to die for another's sake, selfless. Now come, Peregrin Took, summon your courage, for it may yet be that your golden path is close at hand." The hobbit held his sword tighter, and closed his eyes.  
  
-*-*-*-*-*-  
  
Aragorn and Boromir crept out the way they had come, finding Gimli where they had left him not an hour ago, with dead bodies around and an axe blade that ran dripping with blood.  
  
"Eighty, eighty one," Gimli's count kept up with his axe, numbers and severed limbs flowing in an effortless stream.  
  
"Seventeen, Eighteen," Boromir was not stayed by the injury of a father long bereft and a half dead brother- and if he was, the anger only flowed through his blade.  
  
"Eighty two! That's still mine!" shouted Gimli as he embedded his axe in an orc and it went down, a large hash mark in it's back and a grinning Boromir behind it. The tall man looked behind him as Aragorn shouted,  
  
"Legolas!" The creature, looking much like Gabrielin, jumped swiftly on the mumakil, shooting the oliphaunt full of elven wood. Boromir un-strapped the bow from his back again, and began to shoot the riders off the grayling's broad back.  
  
"Thirty-three, thirty-four." The creature called Legolas was still at work on the mumakil, cutting ropes and causing the rack on the creature's back to slide, the tower coming down and crushing it's occupants when the body of the mumak fell on it as well. Gimli looked at the fallen beast, and then at the elf, dubious.  
  
"That still only counts as one!" The field was relatively empty, the dead swarming over the city with un-living speed, anything and everything in their path that was foe falling at their ghostly tide. Aragorn, covered in blood, looked at Boromir, who was looking at Legolas as though he had seen a ghost.  
  
"Boromir, this is Gabrielin's brother, Legolas of Mirkwood." Boromir bowed, guilty for having to meet his savior's kinsman.  
  
"It is an honor to meet you face to face. Please, accept my sincerest apologies that your sister is dead for my sake." The elf smiled in his critical, elevated way.  
  
"Your apology is accepted, man of the south. Many things must pass-that is but one- and many brave souls shall leave our company. She died as she lived, with honor and fighting for something she loved- her home and others. We have a score to settle with the orcs and your city, man of the south. Let us go to it with all haste." Boromir smiled.  
  
-*-*-*-*-*-  
  
The army was obliterated, the field littered with dead riders, orcs, mumakil, and the battered pieces of a city and a dream. The white wizard and the boy at his side walked wearily from the gates. Aragorn was speaking to the king of the Dimholt.  
  
"Release us." Gimli looked up at Aragorn.  
  
"Bad idea. Very handy in a tight spot, these lads, despite the fact they're dead." The king frowned.  
  
"You gave us your word." Aragorn nodded.  
  
"I hold your oath fulfilled. Go. Be at peace." The dead king smiled in his weirding way, and he and his company vanished into whispers on the wind.  
  
-*-*-*-*-*-  
  
The army of the enemy turned back to their dark abysses, Aragorn held council in the grand chamber of the hall of kings.  
  
"Frodo has passed beyond my sight. The darkness is deep." Gandalf had been gazing off into oblivion, his eyes glazed.  
  
"If Sauron had the Ring, we would know it."  
  
Aragorn was gazing at the throne; Boromir was glancing at the black steward's seat in which Gimli was smoking with equal apprehension.  
  
"It's only a matter of time. He has suffered a defeat, yes, but, behind the walls of Mordor our enemy is regrouping."  
  
Gimli took his pipe out of his mouth.  
  
"Let him stay there. Let him rot! Why should we care?"  
  
"Because 10,000 orcs now stand between Frodo and Mount Doom. I've sent him to his death."  
  
"No. There's still hope for Frodo. He needs time, and safe passage across the plains of Gorgorath. We can give him that."  
  
Gimli looked at him as if he had gone mad.  
  
"How?"  
  
"Draw out Sauron's army. Empty his lands. We will gather our full strength and march on the Black Gate."  
  
The dwarf coughed. Éomer came forward, booted feet echoing in the hall; the new King of the Mark had been silent all day. From the moment he had seen his sister's body on the Pelennor till the moment the healers had borne her off to the halls of healing, he had not uttered a word, only cried.  
  
"We cannot achieve victory through strength of arms."  
  
"Not for ourselves, but we can give Frodo a chance if we keep Sauron's eye fixed upon us -- keep him blind to all else that moves." Aragorn's eyes were light with the energy of one of the verge of a revolution.  
  
"A diversion." Boromir looked at Aragorn's face, understanding in his eyes.  
  
"Sauron will suspect a trap. He will not take the bait." Gandalf's voice was quiet, strained.  
  
"Certainty of death, small chance of success. What are we waiting for?" Gimli leapt up from his chair. There was a cry from the back of the hall, and the men turned. A raven-haired young woman ran up, and threw herself into Boromir's arms, spinning around.  
  
"They told me you were dead...and then the king was in the city with you...and I had to give you this before you left! And...Oh, Boromir, it has been too long! " She was weeping. Boromir looked at her, smiled, relieved, and turned to face his comrades, all of who had varying degrees of bewilderment and, in more than one case, mirth, written in their faces.  
  
"May I introduce to you the lady Rhoswen, my bride to be. Rhoswen, this is Gimli, son of Glóin, King Éomer of the Riddermark, you know Mithrandir, and Aragorn...Isildur's heir." He seemed to stumble over the last name, but smiled at his friend. Each man acknowledged her in his turn, Gimli and Éomer bowed, Gandalf nodded, and Aragorn stepped forward, and kissed her hand.  
  
"We have heard much of you, milady. All of it in the highest of reverences." The young woman looked at him in amazement, and then dropped low into a curtsey.  
  
"It is an honor to meet my king, and a joy that he thinks well of me." She withdrew a carefully folded piece of cloth from its package, which she had been carrying.  
  
"Allow me to present your majesty with a standard. It has seen many battles, and has been flying over Osgiliath these few weeks past. I apologize for the plainness- the king should have much better- but it is all I have to offer, such as it is." Aragorn unfurled the banner, a little weather worn, but still white and proud, the tree riding in full force in the middle.  
  
"It will be my pleasure to carry this, along with another made by one who holds me in high regards. I thank you, milady, from the depths of my heart." She bowed, and left quickly. Gimli was still restraining laughter. When the doors closed behind her, he let lose a chuckle. Boromir's eyes flashed, and Gimli quickly turned the chuckle into a hacking cough. Aragorn drew Boromir aside as the rest of the group left the congress.  
  
"A company of riders from the North-my kinsmen- have come to help us. Their captain, and my dear friend, died on the Pelennor. I would command them myself, but-"  
  
"You are the king. You have legions at your fingers. I will take your postion as it is offered." Aragorn withdrew a brooch from his pocket. It was a silver star, arrayed like a sun with an amber stone set at its center.  
  
"This is the badge of Arnor of old. Wear it and show that you serve the king." Boromir bowed, his face set in an expressionless line.  
  
"It will be as my liege commands."  
  
-*-*-*-*-*-  
  
The men of the armory were more than delighted to oblige the future king outfitting for the trip to the black gates. Boromir jogged to his rooms, and came back with the smock embroidered with the tree across the chest in gold thread, his wedding garb, as well as his own armor.  
  
"There. You look a king, my friend." Boromir's armor had proven too big for Aragorn, and the large man strapped it on himself, then helping his king into the corselet of chain mail, and his plate armor. Aragorn frowned as his friend buttoned the coat.  
  
"I do not feel right taking your matrimonial coat." Boromir brushed it away like a fly.  
  
"I have others. The army awaits, my liege."  
  
-*-*-*-*-*-  
  
Pippin looked out anxiously from his seat in front of Gandalf, the hobbit back in armor once more, helm covering his face.  
  
"Where are they?" Aragorn raised a hand to Boromir, who, along with Gimli, Éomer, Merry, Gandalf, Pippin, and Gimli, rode up to the towering gates, the flag Rhoswen had sewn rippling with the breeze from the pole Boromir carried, a second flag bearer at his side with a black standard sewn with seven starry eyed gems and a pure white tree chased in gold and silver. Aragorn shouted up to the gate.  
  
"Let the Lord of the Black Land come forth! Let justice be done upon him!" There was creaking, and the gates began to open, revealing hordes of orcs. The group of horsemen cantered back to the small group waiting. The ranks seemed to close, tightening together in fear.  
  
"Hold your ground! Hold your ground!" He paced Brego back and forth in front of his lines, shouting his lines of heartening and courage.  
  
"Sons of Gondor, of Rohan! My brothers! I see in your eyes the same fear that would take the heart of me! A day may come when the courage of men fails, when we forsake our friends and break all bonds of fellowship. But it is not this day. An hour of wolves and shattered shields, when the age of men comes crashing down. But it is not this day! This day we fight! By all that you hold dear on this good Earth. I bid you stand, Men of the West!"  
  
Swords were drawn, scowls etched obdurate on faces. The orc army swarmed out, and Boromir knew this would be the end- a bitter end indeed, and one oft sung, if there would be any singing in the new order. Gimli piped up.  
  
"I never thought I'd die, fighting side-by-side with an elf, and a Gondorian." Legolas and Boromir, on either side, looked at him queerly.  
  
"What about side-by-side with your friends?" Gimli thought about it.  
  
"Aye, I could do that." Boromir looked at the eye, so close the flaming watch might look at him, and a whisper like a death rattle ran through the ranks.  
  
"Aragorn... Elessar." The king looked up, captivated. He looked from the eye to Boromir, and smiled. Boromir swallowed.  
  
"Your friends will follow you, Aragorn, to what ever end you lead us."  
  
"To whatever end? I will hold you to those words, Boromir of Gondor. But this is not the end...it is only the beginning." Boromir's grin widened, as well as Pippin's, Merry's, and Gimli's. With a mad spur of inspiration, half hoping against hope that gods would save them from death, the king of Men rushed headlong into the hordes ere his courage failed him.  
  
And behind him, the army roared like the sea and followed.  
  
There was a pause, and a rumbling behind the hordes of darkness started. The Free Peoples looked up. The Great Eye blinked, and fizzled, losing form as the tower it topped began to crumble, taking the land around it with it, sinking into the earth. The black gates, too, fell, crushing the orcs, or delving them into the ground, leaving the land upon which the free peoples stood unscathed. Merry shouted with joy, grinning from ear to ear.  
  
"Frodo, Frodo!" The mountain of doom began to shake, fire spewing out in all directions. Pippin sank to his knees in this tearstained victory-so much loss for so much gain.  
  
"Frodo!" The hobbit shed tears like rain. But Merry looked up.  
  
"The eagles! The eagles are coming!"  
  
-*-*-*-*-*-  
  
Rhoswen looked out over the high white walls, the still rancid smell of death and burning flesh lingering in the air, even with a brazier of sweet smelling herbs beside her, tears of nothing but the purest joy staining her face as she watched the small black speak that was the Company of the West march away from the still crumbling remains of unadulterated evil.  
  
"Sound the trumpets! Give word to the heralds that the lords of Gondor have returned victorious!" Rhoswen called to the nearest page, who scampered off with a newly renewed smile on his face. And Rhoswen turned her face to the sun and smiled.  
  
"So, my friend, you have not deserted me after all? The sun really does shine for me, happiest of happy hearts in this, most blessed of hours.  
  
So it was that Boromir's foretelling that the Tower Guard should take up the call that the lords of Gondor had returned, and call home those valiant hearts with silver trumpets ringing clear across the Pelannor, with banners caught high in the breeze, the tower of Ecthelion glimmering like a spike of pearl and silver in the newly found sun.  
  
-*-*-*-*-*-  
  
Boromir looked at the little hobbit, so small, and so brave. His deeds would be the stuff of legend. He laughed with the others, a voice full of relief that his friends were still alive.  
  
"Boromir! Aragorn!" The big folk stood in the background, watching the joyous reunion with smiles.  
  
When the rest had left, Boromir stayed back.  
  
"Frodo, I have to-" the hobbit smiled at him, and held up a hand. Boromir stopped, frightened as he had never been in all his life.  
  
"Boromir, I met your brother, and he was easily taken in as you. The ring is gone-it is the past now, and we must not dwell in the past, because there is nothing we can do to change it. You need not beg forgiveness, for it is freely given."  
  
"I think it...most gratifying...that you should forgive me readily."  
  
"All sin and darkness perished with the destruction the root of sins suffered, Boromir. Forgiveness came when the black tower fell- I am only a bearer of news. Now go, Boromir. I have heard tell that the one you love is in the city. Go to her, and do not let your heart be troubled with the past, for it is the only thing you cannot change." The big man smiled in relief, and left, happy that his most grievous sin had been now been atoned for. But there were other sins not his own that needed tending to.  
  
-*-*-*-*-*-  
  
The Eldest son of the Steward sat at his father's bedside, the older man not moving, the gentle breathing the only sign that he was still with living. There was a tap on his shoulder, and he looked up to see Aragorn.  
  
"Why are you here?"  
  
"I came to see you and your father...has he stirred?"  
  
"Nay." Boromir's face fell even more, as if he was giving up, yet again, the most precious commodity in the universe in times like these-hope.  
  
"May I?" Aragorn drew from a pouch at his waist several leaves, and dropped them in a bowl of water at the steward's bedside, where a cloth lay, seeping in the warm moisture. Very gently, he washed the elderly man's forehead. After what seemed an eternity, the steward's head moved, and ever so slowly, his eyes opened, as though his vision swam.  
  
"Burning...everything was burning...what a dream...and..." He seemed incoherent, like what he said was not his own.  
  
"Father? Father, can you not hear me? Can you not see your son?" Boromir seemed close to tears- his father was so close, and yet...so far.  
  
"I had a son once...but he is dead. Am I not now dead too, that he is before me?" Denethor mumbled to himself, or no one in particular.  
  
"I am not dead, father! I am not dead, and nor is Faramir! Why, why will you not wake? Why must this madness you suffer make me suffer in twain?" Boromir began to cry, and he laid his head on his father's hand. The old man hesitated, struggling to remember, and slowly, he began to stroke his son's hair.  
  
"Boromir...Boromir...they told me you were dead."  
  
All Boromir could do was cry.  
  
-*-*-*-*-*-  
  
Rhoswen looked into her father in law's room to see her king wiping his hands on a towel, sleeves rolled to his elbows, smiling knowledgably, and her fiancé crying and trying to speak at the same time. Denethor looked to the door, and with an aged hand, beckoned her in.  
  
"Rhoswen..." his face cracked a smile. Now he seemed much older, lined and wizened, white haired and sunken in appearance, as if a hundred years of troubles had been brought down upon him while he slept  
  
"It pains me to see you like this, milord. My best wishes for your continued good health. I would take Boromir, if it pleases milord. He and I have much to speak of." Denethor waved a hand to carry on, and Rhoswen gently led Boromir out of his father's room, and down the hall, offering a handkerchief.  
  
"There is something I'd like you to see, love." She took his hand and led him through the streets to the houses of healing. She pointed from the balcony looking over the gardens to two figures, one clad in white with a great azure cloak billowing about her, golden hair rippling in the wind, and the other with a rich green cloak, tawny locks blowing about with the chill breezes. The two were gazing off into the Pelannor, and the woman in blue drew nearer the man; they were talking.  
  
"Yonder is your brother, and I have heard it from his own lips that he fosters a love in his heart for the lady Éowyn."  
  
"The lady Éowyn? The wraithbane? Truly, to the gentle go the spirited, and to the spirited go the gentle-a union of opposites. Shall I call to him?" Rhoswen pulled him away from the balcony, a light of pleading in her eyes.  
  
"You must not! Please, Boromir-would you have liked it if Faramir had walked in on us kissing? Leave them- you and I have better things to speak of." She took his big hand and led him away, to talk of the battle, and other ceremonials besides.  
  
-*-*-*-*-*-  
  
The courtyard of the citadel was packed with people. In the midst of the crowd, Boromir and Rhoswen stood alongside Faramir and Éowyn, both looking haler for their sojourn into shadow. Gandalf set the ancient circ of pearl and silver, with wings like those of a sea bird, upon his head. Boromir, gazing at his friend, seemed to see him in a changed light, more noble than ever before, taller, and the perfect vision of a king. But had Boromir ever found in his mind the doubt that Aragorn could not be, would not be his sovereign? No, never since the Dúnadan had saved his life.  
  
"Now come the days of the king. May they be blessed." Gandalf said as he laid the crown on Aragorn's dark hair. Aragorn took a breath, and faced the masses.  
  
"This day does not belong to one man, but to all. Let us together rebuild this world, that we may share in the days of peace." There were many cheers, and Aragorn, in his musical voice, began to sing.  
  
"Et Earello Endorenna utulien. Sinome maruvan are Hildinyar tenn Ambar- metta." Such were the words, as Faramir and many other scholars could tell you, that Elendil spoke as his feet were set on Middle Earthen sand. 'Out of the Great Sea to Middle-earth I am come. In this place will I abide, and my heirs, unto the ending of the world.' He raised his hands for silence, and the cheering subsided.  
  
"We enter now into the days of the king- Mercy shall be given justice, courage will be rewarded honor, and fidelity, merit. But Gondor is a land renewed, and councils shall be taken to let her glories and honors be restored as well as her kings. And it is my hope that these tasks shall not be delegated to one man alone, but to many men, all who have shown that his heart lies with his country, his city, and his people. My friends, my brothers, reward shall be given in it's turn for you, you who have served me so well when your hearts should have lain with those closer in blood than I." He looked at Boromir and Faramir, brothers alike in their creamy white surcoats, girded at the waist in belts of leaves, one in silver and the other gold, crafted so well by elvish hands.  
  
"You are the keepers of the City, my stewards, sworn to hold oath and office until the king shall return. I hold your oaths fulfilled, but do not release such fine thanes from my service hastily. Boromir, my council, and ever my friend, the lands I have called home for long years past need stewardship. I gift you freely, and with my good will, the princedom of Arnor. It is only with you, and those of your line that I leave in keeping the lands that have been precious to me. And Faramir, my newest brother, your council, too, is much needed here. But I will keep you at my call nearest; I know your heart lies to the east-Ithilien is your domain, as a captain and now, as a Prince. May the sun shine brighter on your fields for it."  
  
The king walked down the carpet flanked by joyous onlookers. He stopped, and Boromir, Faramir, Éowyn, Rhoswen, and Éomer bowed in their turn. A group of elves approached, led by Gabrielin's brother, clad in silver gray. The two embraced like brothers, and Legolas, smiling as if with a secret, stepped back from the banner shielding a woman.  
  
Aragorn's face changed expressions slowly, going from serious to confused to joyful. As the woman holding the banner let her face be seen, Boromir understood why; this was Aragorn's elven princess. She lowered her head, and Aragorn looked at her for a moment, and then suddenly pulled her into a kiss. The crowd cheered. The Princess laughed, a wonderful sound, and the king and his soon to be queen continued through the crowd.  
  
When the two approached the hobbits, the Pherianniath made to bow, but Aragorn stopped them.  
  
"My friends! You bow to no one." And the king of Gondor knelt, and the crowd knelt with him.  
  
Aragorn rose, and the crowd as a tide rose with him. He turned from the hobbits to Boromir, standing, joyful, with Rhoswen by his side, both resplendent in whites and pearls.  
  
"My friend, today is to be my wedding, and...I would share that joy with you." Boromir frowned.  
  
"I could not presume..." Aragorn held up a hand.  
  
"A wise woman told me once that we were brothers Fate had not gifted by blood, both floundering in an ocean of love, far away from the shores of the source, and therefore also in the same boat on that deepening sea. So I ask you, brother, share with me my joy. Let my happiness also be yours on this day, this blessed day of all blessed days." Boromir looked at him, tears starring his eyes, and Aragorn pulled his friend into a hug. Boromir whispered into his ear,  
  
"It shall be as my lord commands." Aragorn whispered back,  
  
"I wish you would stop saying that." Boromir smiled, and the king released him, faces wreathed in smiles, and processed into the hall with his soon to be queen, and the sons of the steward came in behind, followed by the happy multitudes awaiting not one royal marriage, but two.  
  
-*-*-*-*-*-  
  
Aii, but that was certain sacrilege. I do humbly beg forgiveness for whatever wrongs that I have done, for grievous is the crime for which I should be punished without mercy.  
  
If you wish it, tell me what it is that deserves your merit, and you in turn shall be rewarded in a way that will suit what you may have done for me. The bard and poet both live not, kind sirs, on empty words and unspoken praises.  
  
And if you understood any of my methodical English rambling, then you are truly worthy of reviewing my story.  
  
Mercury Gray 


End file.
